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THE NUTSHEI^ LIBRARY 

Edited by Sherwin Cody- 
Assisted by Prof. Edward Dowden, LIj. D., D. 
O. 1i., of Dublin University, Prof. Richard Moul- 
ton of Chicago University, and others. 

Printed on high-grade book paper, -with spe- 
cial ink and careful press-work, from new plates. 

Two- color title-page, half-tone frontispiece, 
decorated front end- sheet. 

The Nutshell Library is designed to give the 
cream of modern literature in clearly printed lit- 
tle volumes that may be carried in the pocket and 
read in an evening. They are books that any man 
who cares to read will buy and place beside his 
standard complete editions. He will point with 
pride to his standard editions : he will read the 
Nutshell Library. 

Poetry is represented by favorite poems. There 
are comparatively few poems in any popular poet 
which we care to read more than once, but these 
few we will read again and again. Great care 
has been made in selecting the volumes of poems 
in the Nutshell Library, and the best literary 
judgment has been called upon, but the needs of 
the average reader have determined the final 
choice. 



ii THE NUTSHELL LIBRARY 

Essays and short stories have been treated in 
the same way. 

Novels have been presented in a unique fashion 
that the editor believes will become highly popu- 
lar. It takes twenty-five hours to read Vanity 
Fair, pronouncing the words at the highest rate 
of speed the human voice is capable of. But if 
the reader has only an evening to give to the book 
he will find in "Two Hours with Vanity Fair" 
just those parts he would wish to read again 
after he had read the entire book thoughtfully. 
There is enough of the plot to make everything 
clear and to keep up the interest, all the impor- 
tant characters are introduced in the author's own 
language, and the witty, the grand, the stirring, 
the amusing scenes are given nearly complete. 

The author of each great work is presented to 
the reader in a chatty biographical introduction, 
that gives all the essential facts of the author's 
life, and places him on a footing of personal ac- 
quaintance with the reader. These introductions 
double the value of the books, for to study an 
author is the best way to know his works. 



THE NUTSHELL LIBRARY m 

The books will be issued eight at a time. The 
following titles are in preparation : , 

Shakspere — Merchant of Venice. 

Longfellow — Favorite Poems and Courtship of 

Miles Standish. 
Scott — Tzvo Hours With Ivanhoe (a complete 

outline of the plot as setting for the great scenes 

and favorite chapters.) 
Irving — Rip Van Winkle, Legend of Sleepy Hol- 
low, etc. 
Hawthorne — Two Hours With the Scarlet Letter. 
Poe — Poems, The Gold-Bug, Murder in the Rue 

Morgue, etc. 
Holmes — Two Hours With the Autocrat (favorite 

poems and best scenes from the Autocrat of the 

Breakfast Table.) 
Longfellow — Evangeline. 

Dickens — The Christmas Carol, and other stories. 
Dickens — Two Hours With Pickwick. 
Thackeray — Two Hours With Vanity Fair. 
Tennyson — Favorite poems. 
Franklin — His life, told from his Autobiography, 

and Sayings of Poor Richard. 
Lincoln — Life, with short outline of the Civil 



iv THE NUTSHELL LIBRARY 

War (a popular biography of America's favorite 

hero). 
Kipling — His most popular poems, and stories 

from Soldiers Three. 
Lamb — Essay on Roast Pig, and other favorite 

essays. 



SHAKSP€R€ 

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Copyright 1900, by Sherwin Cody. 



ji- ibiwuy of Con« 

NOV 7 1900 

Cofjngftt entry 

SECtf WD COPY. 
OttOtH CftVBION, 

DEC 13 1900 



Mote. The text used in this edition is based on the Globe 
Edition of W. G. Clark and W. Aldis Wnght, but alterations 
have been made where those estimable editors have seemed 
to adhere too closely to the probable misprints of the earlier 
editions. 

For convenience in reference, the numbering of the lines in 
the Globe Edition has been adopted, except in the prose pas- 
sages, where the numbers have been omitted. 



Shakspere. 



SHAKSPERE THE BEGINNING OF MODERN LITERATURE. 

Modern literature begins with Shakspere. 
When Homer wrote he embodied in his work the 
best that had been thought and felt in the world 
until his time. So Virgil, Dante, and Chaucer 
were each the sum of the best that had preceded 
them. This is true of Shakspere in still greater 
degree. Shakspere gives us the best in thought 
and feeling to be found anywhere in the world 
before his time. We might almost say that when 
we have read him we do not need to read Homer 
or Virgil or Dante, for in our reading of Shak- 
spere we have already become familiar with their 
best thoughts. 

From another point of view Shakspere is the 
beginning of modern literature. He is the oldest 
writer whose work we can read in the language 
in which it was written. The English of four 
hundred years ago is antiquated ; yet we can read 
the English of Shakspere and understand it with- 
out the help of a translator. The work of every 
writer before Shakspere is practically buried to 
us: we must read it through translations, or else 
by giving years to the study of the language in 



2 SHAKSPERE 

which it is written. Such language and such lit- 
erature may appropriately enough be called dead. 
But Shakspere is fully alive to any one who will 
read him with care. In this sense, therefore, he 
marks the beginning of modern literature. 

But even if he were not first in point of time, 
he would be the starting point from which we 
would reckon in all our study of modern litera- 
ture, or any literature, because he is the greatest. 
To the student of modern literature, therefore, 
Shakspere must always be, like Greenwich, the 
prime meridian, from which literary longitude is 
reckoned east and west, the world over. 

WHAT WE KNOW OF THE MAN. 

We naturally wish to know something of the 
man who thus stands head and shoulders above 
all the other men of literature in the world's his- 
tory. Who was he? What was he? What did 
he do? 

All we know of the life of Shakspere is what 
has been gathered from church records, town rec- 
ords, account books, and very brief references to 
him in the works of his contemporaries. Tradi- 
tion has preserved some few stories about him; 
but no one thought of writing his life till he had 
been dead many years. 

BIRTH OF SHAKSPERE. 

William Shakspere was born at Stratford, on 
the river Avon, in Warwickshire, England. At 
<v at time it was a town of 1,400 inhabitants — in 



HIS LIFE 3 

short, a country village ; but it was located in one 
of the most picturesque and beautiful regions 
imaginable, the very heart of England. 

The date of his birth we do not know. The 
church record shows that he was christened or 
baptized April 26, 1564. There is a tradition that 
the date of his death was the date of his birth — 
April 23 old style, or May 3 new style. 

shakspere's parents. 

John, the father of William Shakspere, was a 
well-to-do burgess of Stratford. He was a 
farmer, and he made and sold gloves. In time 
he rose to fill the posts of chamberlain, alderman, 
and high bailiff. 

William's mother, Mary Arden, belonged to a 
family of landed gentry dating back to a time be- 
fore the Conquest. Her father had died, and she 
brought her husband considerable property. 

William was the oldest of the family, though 
two baby girls had died before his birth. There 
were a sister and two brothers younger than him- 
self. One brother was -an actor and died in 1607. 
The older brother and the sister outlived their 
famous relative. 

SCHOOLING. 

Shakspere's father could not write his own 
name ; but his son must have had some education. 
His fellow playwright, Ben Jonson, describes his 
learning as "small Latin and less Greek." There 
was a Free Grammar School at Stratford, in 



4 SHAKSPERE 

which presumably Latin, Greek, and mathematics 
were taught, as well as other studies usually re- 
quired in preparation for the universities. To 
this school John Shakspere, now in the height of 
his prosperity, doubtless sent his eldest son until 
he was fifteen or sixteen. 

PLAYERS AT STRATFORD. 

It appears in the town records that during the 
period of Shakspere's boyhood, say from the ages 
of ten to fifteen, the chamberlain of Stratford 
paid sums of money to "the Earl of Leicester's 
players," "my Lord of Warwick's players," and 
"the Earl of Worcester's players." During this 
period John Shakspere had become chief alder- 
man, and no doubt he, like the town of Stratford 
which he represented, welcomed and patronized 
the dramatic fraternity. Moreover, in 1575 Queen 
Elizabeth visited Kenilworth, which was within 
walking distance of Stratford, and we may well 
believe that Shakspere, a boy of eleven, was taken 
to see the magnificent shows with which Leicester 
welcomed his royal mistress, whose husband he 
hoped to be. In A Midsummer Night's Dream 
Oberon describes some of these shows with such 
accuracy that we cannot help supposing that the 
author of the play had witnessed those wonderful 
exhibitions at Kenilworth, the talk of England 
for many a year afterward. 



HIS LIFE 5 

THE FAMILY FORTUNES DECLINE. 

Until 1578 John Shakspere seems to have been 
a prosperous and wealthy man, but now we find 
him mortgaging his wife's farm; then he is not 
required to pay the weekly levy for the relief of 
the poor; his borough taxes for 1579 are entered 
as "unpaid and unaccounted for." Finally he 
sells his wife's property; but his case grows only 
the worse. Six years later, on a writ to seize his 
goods for debt, return is made that John Shak- 
spere has nothing in which he is "able to be dis- 
trained." He is also deprived of his office as 
alderman because he "doth not come to the hall, 
nor hath not done of long time." He was even 
arrested and had to sue out a writ of habeas cor- 
pus. Even so late as 1592 the commission ap- 
pointed to investigate the conformity of the peo- 
ple of Warwickshire to the established religion 
notes the failure of John Shakspere to appear 
monthly at church, and sets it down to the fear 
of "processe of debt." From this period his for- 
tunes steadily improve until his death in 1601. 
This change in the tide of his financial affairs we 
may safely attribute to the success of his son as a 
dramatist. We may guess from this, also, that 
1592 is the date which marks the beginning of 
Shakspere's popularity. 

shakspere's youth. 
What the future dramatist did between the time 
at which he left school, presumably on account 



6 SHAKSPERE 

of the decline of his father's fortunes, and the 
date of his marriage, we do not know. There is 
one tradition that he was apprenticed to a butcher, 
another that he was a country schoolmaster, and 
some suppose, from the accuracy of his legal allu- 
sions, that he spent some time in an attorney's 
office. 

MARRIAGE. 

All we actually know of this period is that at 
the age of eighteen he married Anne Hathaway, 
the daughter of a yeoman, at Shottery, a hamlet 
near Stratford. License was granted by the 
bishop of Worcester in November, 1582, for a 
marriage upon once asking of the bans ; and their 
first child was baptized May 26, 1583. The wife 
was eight years older than her husband, and the 
irregularities revealed by the dates suggest some- 
thing more than a little wildness in the young 
man's character. In 1585 William Shakspere be- 
came the father of twins, Hamnet and Judith. 
The son Hamnet died in 1596; the daughter is 
mentioned in his will. 

DEER- STEALING. 

We have no certain information ' concerning 
Shakspere from the year 1585, when his twin 
children were born, to 1592, when the dramatist 
Greene alludes in bitter terms to the rising play- 
wright, who has become his rival. Tradition 
has it that he was obliged to leave Stratford be- 
cause of a deer-stealing escapade. According to 
this story, the young poet made some verses on 



HIS LIFE 7 

Sir Thomas Lucy, whose estate of Charlcote was 
near Stratford and who had been irritated by 
the robbing of his deer-close. One verse only of 
the poem has this tradition preserved, but its 
reference to "lowsie Lucy" is sufficiently insulting 
to account for Sir Thomas' ire. Sir Thomas 
Lucy was a member of Parliament, of the Puritan 
party, and about this time is known to have in- 
troduced into Parliament a bill for the preserva- 
tion of game. In The Merry Wives of Wind- 
sor Shakspere makes Justice Shallow complain 
that Sir John Falstaff had broken open his lodge 
and killed his deer; moreover, there are "luces" 
in the Shallow coat-of-arms. The Welsh parson 
misunderstands this word and says, "the dozen 
white louses do become an old coat well" — a bit 
of gentle revenge which we may imagine the suc- 
cessful dramatist taking in this play written 
especially at the request of the Queen. 

GOES UP TO LONDON. 

In 1587 the "Queen's Players" were at Strat- 
ford, and possibly Shakspere went back to Lon- 
don with the company. There is a tradition that 
he began life in the great city by holding horses 
outside the doors of the theatres. The fact is, 
however, that we have no knowledge at all as to 
how he got his start in the dramatic world. The 
first record we have is the allusion made by 
Robert Greene in his Greenes Groatsworth of Wit 
bought with a Million of Repentance. This was 
a pamphlet published immediately after Greene's 



8 SHAKSPERE 

death by his executor, Henry Chettle. The play- 
wright on his deathbed warns certain of his author 
friends against putting their trust in players : 
"Yes, trust them not:" says he; "for there is an 
upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers, that 
with his tygers heart wrapt in a players hide, sup- 
poses he is as well able to bumbast out a blank 
verse as the best of you : and being an absolute 
Johannes factotum, is in his owne conceit the 
onely Shakescene in a country." The words "a 
tygers heart wrapt in a players hide" are a parody 
on a line from the Third Part of Henry VI., 

Oh tygers heart wrapt in a woman's hide. 
Shakspere had recast this play from a preceding 
play entitled The True Tragedie of Richard, Duke 
of York, of which Greene may himself have been 
the author, and from which, at any rate, Shaks- 
pere has borrowed the line referred to. 

A few months later, in December, 1592, a 
pamphlet entitled Kind-Harts Dream, by Henry 
Chettle, appeared. It seems that Shakspere and 
Marlowe had taken offence at the references in 
Greenes Groatsworth. Replying to these Chettle 
says that as for one of them (Marlowe), while he 
reverences his learning he has nothing to answer 
for, and cares not ever to make his acquaintance. 
Then he goes on: "The other [Shakspere] 
whome at that time I did not so much spare as 
since I wish I had. ... I am as sory as if 
the originall fault had beene my fault, because 
my selfe have seene his demeanor no lesse civill, 
than he exelent in the qualitie he professes; be- 



HIS LIFE 9 

sides, divers of worship have reported his up- 
rightnes of dealing, which argues his honesty, 
and his facetious grace in writing, that approoves 
his art." ("Qualitie" was used of the actor's 
profession, and this is a compliment to Shakspere 
as an actor. "Facetious" means felicitous, 
happy.) 

SHAKSPERE AT THE AGE OF 28. 

A careful study of these references to Shak- 
spere does not, I think, warrant us in saying more 
than that in perhaps five years' time Shakspere 
had won for himself a respectable standing as an 
actor, and that he had rewritten the plays of 
others. Greene's - ath is far more likely to 
arise from the fact that Shakspere had remodelled 
one of his plays, to his loss and discredit, than 
that the young dramatist was proving a successful 
rival with original plays. 

We also see that Shakspere is a "good fellow," 1 
a gentleman, and an actor and author of parts. 
He has just come on to the broad stage of public 
life ; and he is bearing himself modestly and well. 

FIRST PUBLISHED POEMS. 

Precisely what success, if any in particular, 
brought Shakspere into notice in 1592 we cannot 
say. But evidently fortune's tide had turned in 
his favor in this year, and not only is he able to 
help his father out of debt, but he begins to think 
seriously of winning literary reputation. In 1593 
Venus and Adonis, "the first heire of my inven- 



10 SHAKSPERE 

tion," as he calls it, was published with a dedi- 
cation to the Earl of Southampton. This young 
lord was nine years his junior; but evidently the 
two were excellent friends, though in the appeal 
of his dedication Shakspere is very modest. In his 
Lucrece, published the following year, 1594, he 
speaks as if he were thoroughly confident of the 
Earl's friendship, which was no doubt balanced 
on his side by the rising reputation Shakspere 
was winning. These two poems made a distinct 
literary success. In London the successful 
author who is also a gentleman by nature has 
always been given a social position next to the 
aristocracy. We may conclude, therefore, that 
Shakspere had had that ample measure of literary 
popularity which should make his social position 
secure. Southampton was a generous and high- 
spirited young man, perhaps the model for Shak- 
spere's chivalrous heroes in his earlier comedies. 
There is a tradition that the noble earl once 
gave or offered the dramatist £1,000 to carry out 
some purchase. This is doubtless an exaggera- 
tion; but we soon find our author and actor buy- 
ing land and applying in the name of his father 
for a coat-of-arms. 

PROSPERITY. 

At Christmas time, 1593, the Lord Chamber- 
lain's company of players performed before Queen 
Elizabeth, and Shakspere's name is in the list of 
actors. In 1596 John Shakspere applied for a 
grant of coat armor, and in the following year the 



HIS LIFE 11 

grant was made by the Garter King-of-Arms. 
We presume from this that Shakspere had con- 
ceived an ambition to found a family; but he was 
doomed to disappointment in his respect, for his 
only son died in the same year his father applied 
for the coat-of-arms. 

In 1597 Shakspere bought an excellent dwelling 
at Stratford, known as New Place, for the sum 
of £6o. It is evident that he had retained his 
interest in his native town and was planning to 
return there to live at some future time. This 
interest in Stratford is attested by a letter dated 
1598 from Master Abraham Sturley to Richard 
Quiney (father of Shakspere's future son-in- 
law). Mr. Quiney is in London soliciting certain 
favors for the town of Stratford, and Mr. Sturley 
suggests that he will succeed through Mr. Shak- 
spere's social influence. Later in the year we have 
a letter from Quiney to Shakspere (the only let- 
ter to the poet still in existence) begging a loan 
of £30. Further evidence of Shakspere's financial 
prosperity would hardly be required ; but we 
know from records that in this year he was an 
owner of corn and malt at Stratford, and paid 
taxes of £5 13s. 4& in St. Helen's parish, Bishops- 
gate, London. 

SUCCESS AS A DRAMATIST. 

We have no specific mention of any of Shak- 
spere's plays until 1597. In that year Richard II., 
Richard III., and Romeo and Juliet were printed. 
The following year Francis Meres in his Palladis 



12 SHAKSPERE 

Tamia, Wit's Treasury, mentions twelve plays by 
Shakspere, and refers to his "sugred sonnets 
among his private friends." From this time on 
pirated and other editions of the plays follow in 
rapid succession. 

It is clear that the five years following 1592 
had been crowded with literary work ; but in those 
days a play was usually the property of the com- 
pany which produced it, and unless it was very 
remarkable did not bring the author into particu- 
lar notice. Shakspere was an actor, and finally 
became a manager. When his ability as a writer 
of plays was discovered, it is not unnatural that 
it was frequently called into requisition by the 
managers of the company to which he belonged. 
Apparently, however, his plays did not attract 
particular attention outside the green-room circle 
until the production of Romeo and Juliet in the 
autumn of 1596. Early in the next year this 
play was published in quarto "as it hath been 
often, with great applause plaid publiquely by 
the right Honourable the L of Hunsdon his 
servants." Now Henry Lord Hunsdon who was 
Lord Chamberlain until his death, died July 22, 
1596, and his son George Lord Hunsdon was 
appointed Chamberlain in April, 1597. At any 
other time than between these two dates the 
players would have been spoken of as "the 
Lord Chamberlain's servants." The natural 
conclusion to be drawn, therefore, is that 
Romeo and Juliet was produced in the autumn 
of 1596, and had such a run that some pub- 



HIS LIFE 13 

lisher was tempted to print it. Moreover, it 
was doubtless this burst of popularity which 
called forth the reference by Meres already spoken 
of. In 1598 he wrote: "As Plautus and Seneca 
are accounted the best for Comedy and Tragedy 
among the Latines, so Shakespeare among the 
English is most excellent in both kinds for 
the stage: for Comedy, witness his Gentlemen of 
Verona, his Love labours lost, his Love labours 
wonne, his Midsummers night dreame, and his 
Merchant of Venice; for Tragedy, his Richard 
the 2, Richard the 3, Henry the 4, King John, 
Titus Andronicus, and his Romeo and Juliet." 
We can only conjecture what "Love labours 
wonne" refers to. Perhaps it was All's Well that 
Ends Well. 

PERIOD OF HIS GREATEST PLAYS. 

Romeo and Juliet and The Merchant of Venice 
were probably produced in the same year, and 
mark the transition from the first period of his 
production to the second. Such plays as Two 
Gentlemen of Verona, A Comedy of Errors, and 
A Midsummer Night's Dream are light and 
graceful, but present no great or striking char- 
acters. They are full of rhymes, puns, and plays 
upon words. These formed the fashionable wit 
of the period. To us it is somewhat tame, and 
we see that fashions lose their flavor. In so far 
as Shakspere catered to the times, his plays are 
things of the past. But like every successful 



14 SHAKSPERE 

workman, he began by doing better than others 
what others about him were doing. 

in the two plays mentioned above as marking 
his transition to something better, we find the 
same puns and rhymes, and Romeo and Juliet 
has traces of bombast; but we find also for the 
first time strong characters. Shakspere was be- 
ginning to feel his powers, no doubt uncon- 
sciously; and the popular success was probably as 
great a surprise to himself as to any one else. 
But he at once rose to the opportunity which his 
unexpected success had presented and, throwing 
off much of the cheap wit and the cheap methods 
of the stage of that day, he poured himself out in 
a series of great and striking characters. 

SECRET OF SHAKSPERE'S GREATNESS. 

Shakspere's peculiar greatness is only partially 
due to an inspired gift of language; for though 
he is a master of language in his broad grasp and 
power of expression, he often indulges in bombast 
and a cheap twittering in which we must confess 
there is no poetry whatever, even if it did come 
from the pen of the greatest of poets. Nor is his 
especial greatness to be found in his literary skill 
and felicity in plot construction. Shakspere is so 
great because he has created so many great men 
and women. Hamlet is a great man; Portia is a 
great woman; Macbeth, Iago, Lear, Brutus and 
Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra, all impress us with 
their power. It is easy to create ordinary men 
and women; only a truly great man can create 



HIS LIFE 15 

a great man or woman. In all literature we have 
no greater characters than those Shakspere has 
given us, and that is why we call him the greatest 
of writers. 

SHAKSPERE AS AN ACTOR. 

Shakspere, poet and dramatist though he was, 
clung to his profession through nearly the entire 
period of his greatest success as an author, and 
continued to act not only in his own plays, but in 
those of others. In 1598 we know that he acted 
in Ben Jonson's first comedy, Every Man in his 
Humour. Again in 1603 we find him in the list 
of actors in Jonson's Sejanus. Hamlet, Julius 
Caesar, and other great and successful plays had 
already appeared; yet at the zenith of his repu- 
tation we see that he is still attending to his 
regular business. 

In 1602 he purchased for £320 one hundred and 
seven acres in the parish of Old Stratford, and 
later in the year a smaller property. In 1605 he 
bought for £440 the unexpired lease of the tithes 
of Stratford, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Wel- 
combe. And there is evidence that during this 
entire time he was engaged in a malt business. 

LATER YEARS. 

It is probable that Shakspere had some interest 
in the Globe theatre, and perhaps acted as man- 
ager, and subsequently derived an income from it. 
We presume that about 1612 he left London and 
went to live at Stratford. In 1613 he bought a 



16 SHAKSPERE 

house near Blackfriars Theatre and leased it to 
a tenant for ten years. In 1614 we find him pro- 
testing against the enclosure of common lands 
near Stratford, declaring that "he was not able to 
bear the enclosure of Welcombe." March 25, 
1616, he executed his will, and in less than a 
month he had died. The Vicar of Stratford 
noted fifty years later that "Shakspere, Drayton, 
and Ben Jonson had a merry meeting, and it 
seems drank too hard, for Shakspere died of a 
fever there contracted." Whether this is myth 
or history it would be hard to say ; but scandalous 
gossip, we may be certain, never grows less in 
fifty years. 

In his will the greater part of his property was 
left to his eldest daughter, Susanna Hall, and her 
husband. To his wife he left only his "second- 
best bed;" a bequest by no means insulting, for 
she had a widow's dower rights, which must have 
amply provided for her without any specific be- 
quest in the will. 

His daughter Susanna had a daughter Elizabeth, 
who married a Mr. Nash and was Shakspere's 
last living descendant. 

LIKENESSES OF THE POET. 

Shakspere was buried in the parish church at 
Stratford, and a few years later a bust was 
erected, supposed to have been modelled from a 
death-mask. It was colored originally — the eyes 
hazel, the hair and beard auburn. On the flat 



HIS LIFE 17 

stone above his grave may be read the following 
inscription, said to have been written by Shak- 
spere himself: 

"Good frend, jtor Jesus sake forbeare 
To digg the dust enclosed heare, 
Blest be the man that spares thes stones, 
And curst be he that moves my bones." 

The first collected edition of Shakspere's works, 
published seven years after his death, has a por- 
trait engraved by Droeshout. This engraving and 
the bust are the only two likenesses of which we 
can be certain; but there is a painting in the Na- 
tional Portrait Gallery in London which is gener- 
ally regarded as an authentic likeness. It is the 
so-called Chandos portrait, and represents the poet 
with a full, pointed beard. It represents a more 
delicate and sensitive face than either the bust or 
the engraving, and by popular choice this has been 
fixed upon as the true face of Shakspere. It is 
the one appearing in this volume. 

WORKS. 

The first collected edition of Shakspere's works 
was the "Folio of 1623," set forth by his 
"friends" and "fellows" John Heminge and Henry 
Condell. However, some of the separate plays 
had previously been published in quarto form, as 
the dates given below will indicate. The copy for 
many of these quartos was either stolen or ob- 
tained by reporters sent to the theatre to take 
down the speeches as they were delivered. 



18 SHAKSPERE 

Much time and effort have been devoted by 
Shakspere scholars to determining the dates of 
his plays. Moreover, various plays have been at- 
tributed to Shakspere on which grave doubt has 
been thrown. Much of this work has doubtless 
been futile and the results are not to be trusted. 
Certain dates, however, are fixed by contemporary 
references, and to the ordinary mind these are 
quite sufficient. 

The first of these dates is 1592. We are safe 
in supposing that previous to that time Shakspere 
devoted his dramatic talents chiefly to remodelling 
old plays. Of these, internal evidence leads us 
to suppose that we have examples in Titus An- 
dronicus, and 1 Henry VI., published 1600 ; again 
1611; perhaps in 1594; retouched by Shakspere 
before 1592. 

Next we have the comedies and histories men- 
tioned by Meres in 1598, three of which had been 
published in 1597. These are : 

FIRST 
PUBLISHED! 

Love's Labour's Lost 1598 

Comedy of Errors 1623 

Two Gentlemen of Verona 1623 

A Midsummer Night's Dream 1600 

2 & 3 Henry VI. 1623 

Richard II. 1597 

Richard III. 1597 

King John 1623 

Merchant of Venice 1600 
Romeo and Juliet — 1597 (pirated) 1599 



HIS LIFE 



19 



The last is a tragedy and marks the transition 
to the next period. (In the following list the 
dates affixed to the titles are those given by Pro- 
fessor Dowden for the writing of the plays) : 



EIRST 
PUBLISHED. 
HISTORY. 

I & 2 Henry IV. — 1597-8 

(1st) 1598; (2nd) 1600 

Henry V. — 1599 (pirated) 1600 

COMEDY. 

Taming of the Shrew — 1597 ? 1623 

Merry Wives of Windsor — 1598 ? 1602 

Much Ado About Nothing — 1598 1600 

As You Like It — 1599 1623 

Twelfth Night — 1600- 1 1623 
All's Well That Ends Well— 

1601-2 ? 1623 
Measure for Measure — 1603 1623 
Troilus and Cressida — 1603 I ; re- 
vised 1607 ? 1609 

TRAGEDY. 

Julius Csesar— 1601 1623 

Hamlet — 1602; 1603 (pirated) 1604 

Othello— 1604 1622 

King Lear — 1605 1608 

Macbeth— 1606 1623 

Anthony and Cleopatra — 1607 1623 

Coriolanus— 1608 1623 



Timon of Athens— 1607-8 



1623 



20 SHAKSPERE 



FIRST 
PUBLISHED 



ROMANCES. 

Pericles — 1608 1609 

Cymbeline — 1609 1623 

The Tempest — 1610 1623 

A Winter's Tale — 1610-11 1623 

FRAGMENTS. 

Two Noble Kinsmen — 1612 1623 

Henry VIII. — 1612-13 1623 . 

POEMS. 

Venus and Adonis — 1592 ? 1593 

Lucrece— 1593-4 1594 

Sonnets — 1595-1605 ? 1609 

A careful study of Shakspere's plays in the 
order indicated above will reveal the progress of 
his skill and the development of his nature and 
character. The first comedies are light and 
clever, and in. form and manner not much out of 
the range of other comedies of the period. The 
histories show substantial workmanship, but with 
the exception of Richard III. no very remarkable 
characters. 

In Romeo and Juliet we have the introduc- 
tion of tragedy, and with it Shakspere's greatest 
characters. His later comedies also show the 
breadth and range of his thought and feeling and 
his grasp of every phase of life. This was his 
period of thought, of passionate feeling, of 
greatest mental energy. 



HIS LIFE 21 

The romances are his later work. The strug- 
gles and sufferings of life passed, and success 
won, he seems to rise lightly and confidently above 
all that would drag us down. We have the view 
of life of a man who looks on it from the height 
of success. These are by no means Shakspere's 
greatest plays. They have not the strength, the 
energy, and depth of the tragedies and comedies 
of the middle period. They are, however, from 
the artistic point of view, more nearly perfect; 
and they breathe the confident spirit of the man 
who has succeeded and has the right to speak 
from the point of view of success. 

ORIGINALITY. 

Though we may boldly say that Shakspere is 
the one great original English writer, yet he bor- 
rowed his plots, and even many of his phrases, 
from other writers. He freely used the worthless 
plays of those who had gone before him, and there 
is scarcely a plot that was not derived from some 
romance or history accessible to him in English. 
Yet in none of these do we find the character of 
Hamlet or Portia or Iago or Lear. In giving us 
these he gave us what no one else could give. 

S her win Cody. 



friends to Antonio and Bassanio. 



DRAMATIS PERSON^. 

The Duke of Venice. 

The Prince of Morocco, ) 

The Prince of Arragon, f sultors to Portia ' 

Antonio, a merchant of Venice. 

Bassanio, his friend, suitor likewise to Portia. 

Salanio, 

Salarino, 

Gratiano , 

Salerio, 

Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 

Shylock, a rich Jew. 

Tubal, a Jew, his friend. 

Launcelot Gobbo, the clown, servant to Shylock. 

Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot. 

Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. 

Balthasar, ) 

y servants to Portia. 

Stephano, ) 

Portia, a rich heiress. 
Nerissa, her waiting-maid. 
Jessica, daughter to Shylock. 

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of 

Justice, Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and 

other Attendants. 

Scene: Partly at Venice \ and partly at Belmont \ the 

seat of Portia, on the Continent. 



The Merchant of Venice.* 

ACT I. 

Enter Antonio,t Salarino, and Salanio. 

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad : 

It wearies me ; you say it wearies you ; 

But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 

What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 

I am to learn; 

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, 

That I have much ado to know myself. 
Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 

There, where your argosies$ with portly sail, 

Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, 10 

Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, 

* The incidents of the caskets and the pound of flesh are found 
in medieval Italian, Persian and Egyptian romances, and had doubt- 
less been used in English ballads and dramas before Shakspere's 
time. In a pamphlet published in 1579 Stephen Gosson mentions a 
certain play as " The Jew, shown at the Bull, representing the greed 
of worldly choosers, and the bloody minds of usurers." It is not un- 
likely that this was the basis of Shakspere's play. 

t Antonio, the merchant, after whom the play is named, does not 
have a leading role in it; but though he himself does nothing, he is 
the centre about which the events of the play move, the object of the 
love or hatred or anxiety and ingenuity of the other actors. There- 
fore the play is properly named for him rather than for Shylock, the 
strongest character. 

X Large ships. 

23 



24 THE MERCHANT lAct I 

Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
That curtsy to them, do them reverence, 
As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
The better part of my affections would 
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind, 
Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads*; 
And every object that might make me fear 20 

Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My wind cooling my broth 

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great at sea might do. 
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, 
But I should think of shallows and of flats, 
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, 
* Vailingf her high-top lower than her ribs 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church 
And see the holy edifice of stone, 30 

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, 
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, 
Would scatter all her spices on the stream, 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, 
And, in a word, but even now worth this$, 
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought 
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought 
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad? 
But tell not me ; I know, Antonio 

* Roadsteads. 
_ t Letting fall. The ship tipped on its side in the sand has its 
high-top lower than its ribs. 

X Understand a gesture here, indicating something large. 



Scene I] OF VENICE 25 

Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 4° 

Ant. Believe me, no ; I thank my fortune for it, 
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year : 
Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. 

Salar. Why, then you are in love. 

Ant. Fie, fie ! 

Salar. Not in love neither*? Then let us say you are 
sad, 
Because you are not merry ; and 'twere as easy 
For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry, 
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed 
Janusf, 50 

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time : 
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes 
And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper, 
And other of such vinegar aspect 
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 

Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, 
Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well : 
We leave you now with better company. 

Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry. 
If worthier friends had not prevented! me. 61 

Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you 
And you embrace the occasion to depart. 

* Double negatives were grammatical in Shakspere's time, 
t Janus had a face in front and one behind. (January was named 
for him.) t Anticipated. 



26 THE MERCHANT {Act I 

Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, 
when? 
You grow exceeding strange : must it be so ? 

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 

[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. 

Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, 
We two will leave you : but at dinner-time, 70 

I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 

Bass. I will not fail you. 

Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio; 
You have too much respect* upon the world : 
They lose it that do buy it with much care : 
Believe me, you are marvellously changed. 

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
A stage where every man must play a part, 
And mine a sad onef . 

Gra. Let me play the fool : 

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, 80 

And let my liver rather heat with wine 

Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 

Why should a man whose blood is warm within 

Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 

Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice 

By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio — 

I love thee, and it is my love that speaks — 

There are a sort of men whose visages 

Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, 

And do a wilful stillness entertain, 90 

With purpose to be dress' d in an opinion 

* Concern. 

t Antonio's sadness seems to presage his disaster in forfeiting the 
pound of flesh. 



Scene I] OF VENICE 27 

Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit, 
As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle, 
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark !' 

my Antonio, I do know of these 
That therefore only are reputed wise 

For saying nothing, when, I am very sure, 
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears 
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. 
I'll tell thee more of this another time : ioo 

But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 
For this fool gudgeon*, this opinion. 
Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile; 
I'll end my exhortation after dinner. 
Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time : 

1 must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years moef, 
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 

Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.$ no 

Gra. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable 
In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible. 

[Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. 

Ant. Is that anything now? 

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more 
than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two 
grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff : you shall 
seek all day ere you find them, and when you have 
them, they are not worth the search. 

Ant. Well, tell me now what lady is the same 

To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 120 

* The gudgeon was a fish easily caught. 
t More. % Any business in hand. 



28 THE MERCHANT LAct I 

That you to-day promised to tell me of? 

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate, 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Than my faint means would grant continuance: 
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged 
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
Is to come fairly off from the great debts 
Wherein my time something too prodigal 130 

Hath left me gaged*. To you, Antonio, 
I owe the most, in money and in love, 
And from your love I have a warranty 
To unburden all my plots and purposes 
How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; 
And if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
Within the eye of honour, be assured, 
My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 140 
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
The self-same way with more advised watch, 
To find the other forth, and by adventuring both 
I oft found both ; I urge this childhood proof, 
Because what follows is pure innocence. " 
I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth, 
- That which I owe is lost ; but if you please 
To shoot another arrow that selff way 
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
As I will watch the aim, or to find both 150 

Or bring your latter hazard back again 

* Engaged, pledged. t Self-same, same. 



Scene I] OF VENICE 29 

And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 

Ant. You know me well, and herein spend but time 
To wind about my love with' circumstance ; 
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong 
In making question of my uttermost 
Than if you had made waste of all I have ; 
Then do but say to me what I should do 
That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
And I am prest* unto it; therefore, speak. 160 

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left ; 

And she is fair and, fairer than that word, 

Of wondrous virtues : sometimes from her eyes 

I -did receive fair speechless messages : 

Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued 

To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia: 

Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, 

For the four winds blow in from every coast 

Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks 

Hang on her temples like a golden fleece; 170 

Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand, 

And many Jasons come in quest of her. 

my Antonio, had I but the means 

To hold a rival place with one of themf, 

1 have a mind presages me such thrift, 
That I should questionless be fortunate! 

Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea ; 
Neither have I money nor commodity 
To raise a present sum ; therefore go forth ; 
Try what my credit can in Venice do : 180 

That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 

* Prompt, ready. t As one of them. 



30 THE MERCHANT {Act I 

Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 

Where money is, and I no question make 

To have it of my trust or for my sake. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of 
this great world. 

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries 
were in the same abundance as your good fortunes 
are; and yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that 
surfeit with too much as they that starve with noth- 
ing. It is no small happiness, therefore, be seated 
in the mean : superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, 
but competency lives longer. 

Por. Good sentences and well pronounced. 

Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good 
to do, chapels had been churches and poor men's cot- 
tages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that fol- 
lows his own instructions : I can easier teach twenty 
what were good to be done, than be one of the 
twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may 
devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er 
a cold decree : such a hare is madness the youth, to 
skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. 
But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me 
a husband. O me, the word 'choose' ! I may neither 
choose whom I would nor refuse whom I dislike; 
so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will 
of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I can- 
not choose one nor refuse none? 



Scene II] OF VENICE 31 

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men at 
their death have good inspirations : therefore the lot- 
tery, that he hath devised in these three chests of 
gold, silver and lead, whereof who chooses his mean- 
ing chooses you, will, no doubt, never be chosen by 
any rightly but one who shall rightly love. But what 
warmth is there in your affection towards any of 
these princely suitors that are already come ? 

Por. I pray thee, over-name them ; and as thou namest 
them, I will describe them; and, according to my 
description, level at my affection. 

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 

Por. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but 
talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropri- 
ation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him 
himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother 
played false with a smith. 

Ner. Then there is the County Palatine. 

Por. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 
'If you will not have me, choose;' he hears merry 
tales and smiles not : I fear he will prove the weep- 
ing philosopher when he grows old, being so full of 
unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be 
married to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth 
than to either of these. God defend me from these 
two ! 

Ner. How say you by* the French lord, Monsieur Le 
Bon? 

Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a 
man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker; 
but, he ! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapoli- 

* Of, in reference to. 



32 THE MERCHANT LAct I 

tan's, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count 
Palatine ; he is every man in no man ; if a throstle 
sing, he falls straight a capering; he will fence with 
his own shadow : if I should marry him, I should 
marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I 
would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I 
shall never requite him. 

Ner. What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young 
baron of England? 

Por. You know I say nothing to him, for he under- 
stands not me, nor I him ; he hath neither Latin, 
French, nor Italian, and you will come into the court 
and swear that I have a poor^ pennyworth in the 
English. He is a proper man's picture, but, alas, 
who can converse with a dumb-show? How oddly 
he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, 
his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany 
and his behaviour everywhere. 

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neigh- 
bour. 

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for 
he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman 
and swore he would pay him again when he was able ; 
I think the Frenchman became his surety and sealed 
under for another. 

Ner. How like you the young German, the Duke of 
Saxony's nephew? 

Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, and 

most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk ; when 

he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and when 

he is worst, he is little better than a beast: an* the 

* An old form for if. Compare the common phrase " without any 
ifs or ans." So, too, An if. 



Scene II] OF VENICE 33 

worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift 
to go without him. 

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right 
casket, you should* refuse to perform your father's 
will, if you should refuse to accept him. 

Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set 
a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket, 
for if the devil be within and that temptation without, 
I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, 
Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge. 

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these 
lords ; they have acquainted me with their determina- 
tions ; which is, indeed, to return to their home and 
to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be 
won by some other sort than your father's imposition 
depending on the caskets. 

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as 
chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner 
of my father's will. I am glad this parcel of wooers 
are so reasonable, for there is not one among them 
but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant 
them a fair departure. 

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, 
a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither 

* in company of the Marquis of Montferrat? 

Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so 
called. 

Ner. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my 
foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a 
fair lady. 

* The present distinction between should and would was not made 
in Shakspere's time. 



34 THE MERCHANT [Act I 

Por. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy 
of thy praise. 

Enter a Serving-man. 

How now ! what news ? 

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take 
their leave : and there is a forerunner come from a 
fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word the 
prince his master will be here to-night. 

Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a 
heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should 
be glad of his approach : if he have the condition* of 
a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he 
should shrive me than wive me. 
Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. 
Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another 
knocks at the door. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A Public Place. 

Enter Bassanio and Shylockf. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats$; well. 

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 

Shy. For three months ; well. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be 

bound. 
Shy. Antonio shall become bound; well. 

* Temper, disposition. 

t Shylock is without doubt the strongest character in any of Shak- 
spere's comedies, and this was evidently a temptation to name the 
play after him, for it was originally entered at Stationers' Hall as 
'• The Merchant of Venice, or otherwise called The Jew of Venice." 

% A ducat was equal to $1.53, but the value of money was six times 
what it is now. 



Scene III] OFVENICE 35 

Bass. May you stead* me? will you pleasure me? shall 
I know your answer? 

Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months and An- 
tonio bound. 

Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shy. Antonio is a good man. 

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? 

Shy. Oh, no no, no, no : my meaning in saying he is a 
good man is to have you understand me that he is 
sufficient. Yet his means are in supposition : he hath 
an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; 
I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a 
third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other 
ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships are 
but boards, sailors but men : there be land-rats and 
water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves — I mean 
pirates : and then there is the peril of waters, winds 
and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient. 
Three thousand ducats ; I think I may take his bond. 

Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I may be as- 
sured, I will bethink me. May I speak with An- 
tonio ? 

Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 

Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitationf which 
your prophet the Nazarite conjured the Devil into. 
I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, 
walk with you, and so following, but I will not eat 
with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What 
news on the Rialto? — Who is he comes here? 

* Aid. 

t Referring to the swine that ran into the Sea of Galilee. 



36 THE MERCHANT [Act 1 

Enter Antonio. 

Bass. This is Signior Antonio. 41 

Shy. [Aside] How like a fawning publican he looks ! 
I hate him for he is a Christian, 
But more for that in low simplicity- 
He lends out money gratis and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, 
Even there where merchants most do congregate, 50 
On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift, 
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe 
If I forgive him ! 

Bass. Shylock, do you hear? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store, 
And, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
Will furnish me. But soft ! how many months 
Do you desire? [To Ant.] Rest you fair, good 
signior ; 60 

Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 

Ant. Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow 
By taking nor by giving of excess, 
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
I'll break a custom. Is he yet possessed 
How much we would? 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 

Ant. And for three months. 



Scene III] OF VENICE 37 

Shy. I had forgot; three months; you told me so. 
Well then, your bond ; and let me see ; but hear you ; 
Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow 70 
Upon advantage. 

Ant. I do never use it. 

Shy. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep — 
This Jacob from our holy Abram was, 
As his wise mother wrought in his behalf, 
The third possessor; ay, he was the third — 

Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? 

Shy. No, not take interest, not, as you would say, 
Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
When Laban and himself were compromised* 
That all the eanlingsf which were streak' d and pied 
Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank, 
In the end of autumn turned to the rams, 
And, when the work of generation was 
Between these woolly breeders in the act, 
The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands 
And, in the doing of the deed of kind, 
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, 
Who then conceiving did in eaning time 
Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest : 90 

And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 

Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for; 
A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
But sway'd and fashion' d by the hand of heaven. 
Was this inserted^ to make interest good? 
Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? 

Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast ; 

* Agreed. t New-born lambs. % That is, in Scripture. 



38 THE MERCHANT {.Act I 

But note me, signior. 

Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 

The Devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 

An evil soul producing holy witness ioo 

Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 

A goodly apple rotten at the heart : 

O, what a godly outside falsehood hath ! 

Shy. Three thousand ducats ; 'tis a good round sum. 
Three months from twelve; then, let me see, the 
rate — 

Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you? 

Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my moneys and my usances : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, no 

For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. 
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine*, 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears you need my help : 
Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say 
'Shylock, we would have moneys:' you say so; 
You, that did void your rheumf upon my beard 
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold ; moneys is your suit. 120 

What should I say to you ? Should I not say 
'Hath a dog money? is it possible 
A cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or 
Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key, 
With bated breath and whispering humbleness, 

* Long outer garment . 

t The discharge from eyes, nose, or mouth. 



Scene III] OFVENICE 39 

Say this : 

'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last*; 
You spurn'd me such a day; another time 
You called me dog; and for these courtesies 
. I'll lend you thus much moneys' ? 130 

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends ; for when did friendship take 
A breed for barren metal of his friend ? 
But lend it rather to thine enemy, 
Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face 
Exact the penalty. 

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 

I would be friends with you and have your love, 
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with, 
Supply your present wants and take no doitf 141 

Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me : 
This is kind I offer. 

Bass. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show. 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
If you repay me not on such a day, 
In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal pound 150 

Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 

* We should doubtless take this figuratively, for Antonio is much 
too much of a gentleman to do anything so vulgar; and if he had 
done it he would not have allowed Bassanio to ask the Jew for mon- 
say. The two are enemies, but not beyond the bounds of social inter- 
ourse. 

t A small Dutch coin worth less than a cent. 



40 THE MERCHANT [Act I 

In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

Ant. Content, i' faith : I'll seal to such a bond 
And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me : 
I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 

Ant. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it; 
Within these two months, that's a month before 
This bond expires, I do expect return 160 

Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

Shy. O father Abram, what these Christians are, 
Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this : 
If he should break his day, what should I gain 
By the exaction of the forfeiture? 
A pound of man's flesh taken from a man 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, 
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship : 
If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 170 

And for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
Give him direction for this merry bond, 
And I will go and purse the ducats straight, 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
Of an unthrifty knave, and presently 
I will be with you. 

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. [Exit Shylock. 

The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. 

Bass. I like not fair terms and a villain's mind. 180 

Ant. Come on : in this there can be no dismay ; 
My ships come home a month before the day. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene I] OF VENICE 41 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco and 
his train; Portia, Nerissa, and others attending. 

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, 
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 
To whom I am a neighbour and near bred. 
Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 
And let us make incision for your love, 
To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine. 
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
Hath fear'd* the valiant; by my love, I swear 
The best-regarded virgins of our clime io> 

Have loved it too : I would not change this hue, 
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 

Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes ; 
Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing : 
But if my father had not scanted me 
And hedged me by his will, to yield myself 
His wife who wins me by that means I told you, 
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair 20 

As any comer I have look'd on yet 
For my affection. 

Mor. Even for that I thank you : 

* Frightened. 



42 THE MERCHANT lAct II 

Therefore, I pray } r ou, lead me to the caskets 

To try my fortune. By this scimitar 

That slew the Sophy* and a Persian prince 

That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, 

I would outstare the sternest eyes that look, 

Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, 

Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, 

Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, 30 

To win thee, lady. But, alas the while ! 

If Hercules and Lichasf play at dice 

Which is the better man, the greater throw 

May turn by fortune from the weaker hand ; 

So is Alcides beaten by his page ; 

And so may I, blind fortune leading me, 

Miss that which one unworthier may attain, 

And die with grieving. 

Por. You must take your chance, 

And either not attempt to choose at all 
Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong 40 
Never to speak to lady afterward 
In way of marriage ; therefore be advised. 

Mor. Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance. 

Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner 
Your hazard shall be made. 

Mor. Good fortune then ! 

To make me blest or cursed' st among men. 

{.Comets, and exeunt. 



* Persian emperor. Ismael Sophi founded a dynasty. 

t Lichas was the page of Hercules. Hercules was also called 
Alcides. 



Scene II] OF VENICE 43 

Scene II*. Venice. A street. 

Enter Launcelot. 

Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run 
from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine 
elbow and tempts me, saying to me 'Gobbo, Launcelot 
Gobbo, good Launcelot,' or 'good Gobbo,' or 'good 
Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run 
away.' My conscience says 'No ; take heed, honest 
Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo,' or, as afore- 
said, 'honest Launcelot Gobbo ; do not run ; scorn 
running with thy heels.' Well, the most courageous 
fiend bids me pack : 'Via !' says the fiend ; 'away !' 
says the fiend ; 'for the heavens, rouse up a brave 
mind,' says the fiend, 'and run.' Well, my conscience, 
hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely 
to me, 'My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest 
man's son,' or rather an honest woman's son; for, in- 
deed, my father did something smack, something 
grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience 
says 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the 
fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience. 'Con- 
science,' say I, 'you counsel well ;' 'Fiend,' say I, 
'you counsel well :' to be ruled by my conscience, I 
should stay with the Jew my master, who, God bless 
the mark, is a kind of devil ; and, to run away from 
the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving 
your reverence, is the Devil himself. Certainly the 
Jew is the very Devil incarnal; and, in my con- 
science, my conscience is but a kind of hard con- 

* Much of the humor of this scene is in the ignorant misuse of 
words. 



44 THE MERCHANT [Act II 

science, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. 
The fiend gives the more friendly counsel : I will run, 
fiend ; my heels are at your command ; I will run. 

Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket. 

Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the 

way to Master Jew's ? 
Laun. [Aside] O heavens, this is my true-begotten 

father! who, being more than sand-blind*, high- 
gravel blind, knows me not: I will try confusions 

with him. 
Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is 

the way to Master Jew's? 
Laun. Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, 

but, at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, 

at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn 

down indirectly to the Jew's house. 
Gob. By God's sontiesf, 'twill be a hard way to hit. 

Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells 

with him, dwell with him or no ? 
Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? [Aside] 

Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk 

you of young Master Launcelot? 
Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son : his father, 

though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man and, 

God be thanked, well to livej. 
Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of 

young Master Launcelot. 
Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir. 
Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech 

you, talk you of young Master Launcelot ? 

* Purblind, dim-sighted. t Corruption of saints or sanctity. 
X Well off. Gobbo contradicts himself. 



Scene II] OF VENICE 45 

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 

Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master 
Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman, accord- 
ing to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the 
Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is in- 
deed deceased, or, as you would say in plain terms, 
gone to heaven. 

Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff of 
my age, my very prop. 

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or 
a prop? Do you know me, father*? 

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman ; 
but I pray you, tell me, Is my boy, God rest his soul, 
alive or dead? 

Laun. Do you not know me, father? 

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind ; I know you not. 

Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might 
fail of the knowing me ; it is a wise father that knows 
his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news 
of your son ; give me your blessing : truth will come 
to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son 
may, but at the length truth will out. 

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up : I am sure you are not 
Launcelot, my boy. 

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, 
but give me your blessing ; I am Launcelot, your boy 
that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. 

Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 

Laun. I know not what I shall think of that : but I am 
Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery 
your wife is my mother. 

* Old men were often addressed as father. 



46 THE MERCHANT [Act II 

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if 
thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and 
blood. [Taking hold of his back hair.] Lord wor- 
shipped* might he be ! what a beard thou hast got ! 
Thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin 
my fill-horse has on his tail. 

Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows 
backward : I am sure he had more hair of his tail 
than I have of my face when I last saw him. 

Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost thou and 
thy master agree? I have brought him a present. 
How 'gree you now ? 

Laun. Well, well ; but, for mine own part, as I have 
set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till 
I have run some ground. My master's a very Jew: 
give him a present ! give him a halter : I am famished 
in his service; you may tell every finger I have with 
my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me 
your present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed, 
gives rare new liveries : if I serve not him, I will run 
as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune ! here 
comes the man : to him, father ; for I am a Jew, 
if I serve the Jew any longer. 

Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo and other followers. 

Bass. You may do so; but let it be so hasted that sup- 
per be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See 
these letters delivered; put the liveries to making, 
and desire Gratiano to come anonf to my lodging. 

[Exit a Servant. 

Laun. To him, father. 

* This phrase, not used elsewhere, has never been satisfactorily 
explained. t Immediately? 



Scene II] OF VENICE 47 

Gob. God bless your worship ! 

Bass. Gramercy ! wouldst thou aught with me ! 

Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, — 

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; 

that would, sir, as my father shall specify— 
Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, 

to serve, — 
Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the 

Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify — 
Gob. His master and he, saving your worship's rever- 
ence, are scarce cater-cousins — 
Laun. To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, 

having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, 

being, I hope, an old man, shall f rutify unto you — 
Gob. I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow 

upon your worship, and my suit is — 
Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, 

as your worship shall know by this honest old man; 

and, though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, 

my father. 
Bass. One speak for both. What would you ? 
Laun. Serve you, sir. 

Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. 
Bass. I know thee well ; thou hast obtain' d thy suit : 

Shylock thy master spoke with me this day, 

And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment 

To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 

The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between my 

master Shylock and you, sir; you have the grace of 

God, sir, and he hath enough. 
Bass. Thou speak' st it well. Go, father, with thy son. 



48 THE MERCHANT VAct II 

Take leave of thy old master and inquire 

My lodging out. — Give him a livery 

More guarded* than his fellows' : see it done. 

Laun. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no ; I have 
ne'er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in 
Italy have a fairer tablet which doth offer to swear 
upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to, here's 
a simple line of life: here's a small trifL of wives: 
alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven widows and 
nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man; and 
then to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of 
my life with the edge of a feather-bed; here are 
simple 'scapes. Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's 
a good wench for this gear. Father, come; I'll take 
my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an.eye. 

[Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo. 

Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this : 
These things being bought and orderly bestow'd, 
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
My best esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go. 

Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Where is your master? 

Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. {Exit. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio! 

Bass. Gratiano. 

Gra. I have a suit to you. 

Bass. You have obtain' d it. 

* Ornamented. Guards were trimmings. 

t He means his hand. Launcelot is a palmist. 



Scene II] OF VENICE 49 

Gra. You must not deny me: I must go with you 
to Belmont. 

Bass. Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano; 
Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice ; 190 
Parts that become thee happily enough 
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
But where thou art not known, why, there they 

show 
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain 
To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour 
I be misconstrued in the place I go to 
And lose my hopes. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me: 

If I do not put on a sober habit, 199 

Talk with respect and swear but now and then, 
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely, 
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say 'amen,' 
Use all the observance of civility, 
Like one well studied in a sad ostent 
To please his grandam, never trust me more. 

Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me 
By what we do to-night. 

Bass. No, that were pity: 

I would entreat you rather to put on 210 

Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
That purpose merriment. But fare you well: 
I have some business. 

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest: 

But we will visit you at supper-time. {.Exeunt. 



50 THE MERCHANT lAct II 

Scene III. The same, A room in Shylock's house. 
Enter Jessica and Launcelot. 

Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so : 
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, 
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness. 
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee : 
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest: 
Give him this letter; do it secretly; 
And so farewell : I would not have my father 
See me in talk with thee. 9 

Laun. Adieu ! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beau- 
tiful pagan, most sweet Jew ! if a Christian did not 
play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. 
But, adieu : these foolish drops do something drown 
my manly spirit: adieu. 

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. [Exit Launcelot. 

Alack, what heinous sin is it in me 
To be ashamed to be my father's child ! 
But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, 
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, 20 

Become a Christian and thy loving wife. [Exit. 

Scene IV. The same. A street. 

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. 
Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, 

Disguise us at my lodging and return, 

All in an hour. 
Gra. We have not made good preparation. 



Scene IV] OF VENICE 51 

Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. 
Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order' d, 

And better in my mind not undertook. 
Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours 

To furnish us. 

Enter Launcelot, with a letter. 

Friend Launcelot, what's the news? 
Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it shall 

seem to signify. II 

Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair hand ; 

And whiter than the paper it writ on 

Is the fair hand that writ. 
Gra. Love-news, in faith. 

Laun. By your leave, sir. 
Lor. Whither goest thou? 
Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to 

sup to-night with my new master the Christian. 
Lor. Hold here, take this : tell gentle Jessica I will 

not fail her ; speak it privately. 21 

Go. [Exit Launcelot.] Gentlemen, 

Will you prepare you for this masque to-night? 

I am provided of a torch-bearer. 
Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. 
Salan. And so will I. 
Lor. Meet me and Gratiano 

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 
Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 

{.Exeunt Salar. and Salan. 
Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica? 
Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed 

How I shall take her from her father's house, 31 



52 THE MERCHANT [Act II 

What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with, 

What page's suit she hath in readiness. 

If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, 

It will be for his gentle daughter's sake: 

And never dare misfortune cross her foot, 

Unless she ,do it under this excuse, 

That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 

Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest: 

Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. The same. Before Shylock's house. 
Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 

Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, 
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio: — 
What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize, 
As thou hast done with me : — What, Jessica ! — 
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out; — 
Why, Jessica, I say ! 

Laun. Why, Jessica! 

Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. 

Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me that I could 
do nothing without bidding. 

Enter Jessica. 

Jes. Call you? what is your will? 10 

Shy. I am bid forth to supper*, Jessica: 

There are my keys. But wherefore should I go? 

I am not bid for love; they flatter me: 

But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 

The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl, 

* Did Shakspere forget that the Jew had previously asserted he 
would not eat with Christiaas ? 



Scene V] OF VENICE 53 

Look to my house. I am right loath to go: 
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, 
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go : my young master doth 
expect your reproach. 20 

Shy. So do I his. 

Laun. And they have conspired together, I will not 
say you shall see a masque; but if you do, then it 
was not for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on 
Black-Monday* last at six o'clock i' the morning, 
falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four 
year, in the afternoon. 

Shy. What, are there masques? Hear you me, 
Jessica : 
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum 
And the vile squealing of the wry-neck' d fife, 30 
Qamber not you up to the casements then, 
Nor thrust your head into the public street 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces, 
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements : 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear, 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah: 
Say I will come. 

Laun. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at 
window, for all this; 41 

There will come a Christian by, 
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exeunt. 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? 

Jes. His words were 'Farewell, mistress;' nothing else. 

* Easter-Monday, so called from a terribly dark, cold Easter-Mon- 
day in the siege of Paris by Edward III. 



54 THE MERCHANT [Act II 

Shy. The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder; 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me; 
Therefore I part with him, and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste 50 

His borrow' d purse. Well, Jessica, go in: 
Perhaps I will return immediately: 
Do as I bid you ; shut doors after you : 
Fast bind, fast find; 
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 

Jes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, 

I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. 

Scene VI. The same. 
Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masqued. 

Gra. This is the pent-house* under which Lorenzo 

Desired us to make stand. 
Salar. His hour is almost past. 

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 

For lovers ever run before the clock. 
Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 

To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont 

To keep obliged faith unforfeited. 
Gra. That ever holds : who riseth from a feast 

With that keen appetite that he sits down? 

Where is the horse that doth untread again 10 

His tedious measures with the unbated fire 

That he did pace them first? All things that are, 

Are with more spirit chased than enjoy' d. 

How like a younker or a prodigal 
* A porch. 



Secen VI] OF VENICE 55 

The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! 
How like the prodigal doth she return, 
With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, 
Lean, rent and beggar' d by the strumpet wind ! 19 
Salar. Here comes Lorenzo : more of this hereafter. 

Enter Lorenzo. 

Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode; 
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait : 
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 
I'll watch as long for you then. Approach; 
Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within? 

Enter Jessica, above, in boy's clothes. 

Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, 
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 

Jes. Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed, 

For who love I so much ? And now who knows 
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 31 

Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou 
art. 

Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains. 
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, 
For I am much ashamed of my exchange: 
But love is blind and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies that themselves commit; 
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
To see me thus transformed to a boy. 

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 40 

Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames ? 
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 



56 THE MERCHANT [Act II 

Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love; 
And I should be obscured. 

Lor. So are you, sweet, 

Even in the lovely garnish* of a boy. 
But come at once; 

For the closef night doth play the runaway, 
And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. 

Jcs. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 

[Exit above. 50 

Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew. 

Lor. Beshrew me but I love her heartily; 
For she is wise, if I can judge of her, 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, 
And true she is, as she hath proved herself, 
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 

Enter Jessica, below. 

What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away! 
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 

[Exit with Jessica and Salarino. 

Enter Antonio. 

Ant. Who's there? 60 

Gra. Signior Antonio ! 

Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano ! where are all the rest? 

'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you. 

No masque to-night: the wind is come about; 

Bassanio presently will go aboard : 

I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 

* Dress. t Secret. 



Scene VII] OF VENICE 57 

Gra. I am glad on't: I desire no more delight 

Than to be under sail and gone to-night. [.Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince of 
Morocco, and their trains. 

Por. Go draw aside the curtains and discover 

The several caskets to this noble prince. 

Now make your choice. 
Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, 

'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men de- 
sire;' 

The second, silver, which this promise carries, 

'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves ;' 

This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, 

'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he 
hath.' 

How shall I know if I do choose the right? 10 

Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince: 

If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 
Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see: 

I will survey the inscriptions back again. 

What says this leaden casket? 

'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he 
hath.' 

Must give: for what? for lead? hazard for lead? 

This casket threatens. Men that hazard all 

Do it in hope of fair advantages: 

A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; 20 

I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. 



58 THE .MERCHANT [Act II 

What says the silver with her virgin hue ? 
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves.' 
As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco, 
And weigh thy value with an even hand: 
If thou be' st rated by thy estimation, 
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough 
May not extend so far as to the lady: 
And yet to be afeard of my deserving 
Were but a weak disabling of myself. 30 

As much as I deserve! Why, that's the lady: 
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, 
In graces and in qualities of breeding; 
But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
What if I stray'd no further, but chose here? 
Let's see once more this saying graved in gold ; 
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men de- 
sire.' 
Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her; 
From the four corners of the earth they come, 
To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint: 40 
The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds 
Of wide Arabia are as thoroughfares now 
For princes to come view fair Portia: 
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head 
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
To stop the foreign spirits, but they come, 
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation 
To think so base a thought: it were too gross 50 



Scene VII] OF VENICE 59 

To rib her cerecloth* in the obscure grave. 
Or shall I think in silver she's immured, 
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? 
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem 
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England 
A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
Stamp' d in gold, but that's insculp'd upon; 
But here an angel in a golden bed 
Lies all within. Deliver me the key: 
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 60 

Por. There, take it, prince ; and if my form lie there, 
Then I am yours. {He unlocks the golden casket. 
Mor. O hell ! what have we here ? 

A carrion Death, within whose empty eye 
There is a written scroll ! I'll read the writing. 
{Reads] All that glisters is not gold ; 

Often have you heard that told ; 
Many a man his life hath sold 
But my outside to behold : 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 70 

Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
Your answer had not been inscroll'd : 
Fare you well ; your suit is cold. 
Cold, indeed ; and labour lost : 
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost! 
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart 
To take a tedious leave; thus losers part. 

{Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets. 
Por. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. 

Let all of his complexion choose me so. {Exeunt. 

* Grave-clothes. Lead was too base even for her coffin. 



60 THE MERCHANT {Act II 

Scene VIII. Venice. A street. 
Enter Salarino and Salanio. 

Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail : 

With him is Gratiano gone along; 

And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not. 
Salan. The villain Jew with outcries raised the Duke, 

Who went with him to search Bassanio' s ship. 
Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail : 

But there the Duke was given to understand 

That in a gondola were seen together 

Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : 

Besides, Antonio certified the Duke 10 

They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 
Salan. I never heard a passion so confused, 

So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 

As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 

'My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daughter ! 

Fled with a Christian ! O my Christian ducats ! 

Justice ! the law ! my ducats and my daughter ! 

A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, 

Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter ! 

And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones, 

Stolen by my daughter ! Justice ! find the girl ; 21 

She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.' 
Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, 

Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 
Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 

Or he shall pay for this. 
Salar. Marry, well remember'd. 

I reason' d with a Frenchman yesterday, 

Who told me, in the narrow seas that part 



Scene VIII] OF VENICE 61 

The French and English, there miscarried 

A vessel of our country richly fraught : 30 

I thought upon Antonio when he told me ; 

And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 

Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear : 
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part : 
Bassanio told him he would make some speed 
Of his return: he answer'd, 'Do not so; 
Slubber* not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
But stay the very riping of the time ; 40 

And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me, 
Let it not enter in your mind of love : 
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts 
To courtship and such fair ostents of love 
As shall conveniently become you there :' 
And even then, his eye being big with tears, 
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, 
And with affection wondrous sensible 
He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted. 

Salan. I think he only loves the world for him. 50 

I pray thee, let us go and find him out 
And quicken his embraced heaviness 
With some delight or other. 

Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt. 



* Do carelessly. 



62 THE MERCHANT {Act II 

Scene IX. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 
Enter Nerissa with a Servitor. 
Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain 
straight : 
The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, 
And comes to his election presently. 
Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, 
Portia, and their trains. 

Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince: 
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, 
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized : 
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, 
You must be gone from hence immediately. 

Ar. I am enjoin' d by oath to observe three things : 
First, never to unfold to any one 10 

Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail 
Of the right casket, never in my life 
To woo a maid in way of marriage : 
Lastly, 

If I do fail in fortune of my choice, 
Immediately to leave you and be gone. 

Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear 
That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 

Ar. And so have I address'd me*. Fortune now 

To my heart's hope ! Gold ; silver ; and base lead. 20 
'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' 
You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard. 
What says the golden chest? ha ! let me see : 
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.' 
What many men desire ! that 'many' may be meant 

* Prepared myself. 



Scene IX] OF VENICE 63 

By* the fool multitude, that choose by show, 

Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach; 

Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet, 

Builds in the weather on the outward wall, 

Even in the force and road of casualty. 30 

I will not choose what many men desire, 

Because I will not jumpt with common spirits 

And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 

Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house; 

Tell me once more what title thou dost bear ; 

'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves :' 

And well said too ; for who shall go about 

To cozen fortune and be honourable 

Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume 

To wear an undeserved dignity. 4° 

O, that estates, degrees and offices 

Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour 

Were purchased by the merit of the wearer ! 

How many then should covert that stand bare ! 

How many be commanded that command ! 

How much low peasantry would then be glean'd 

From the true seed of honour ! and how much honour 

Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times 

To be new- varnish' d ! Well, but to my choice : 

'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves/ 

I will assume desert. Give me a key for this, 51 

And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 

tHe opens the silver casket, 

Por. Too long a pause for that which you find there. 

Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot, 
Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it. 

* Of. t Agree. X Keep their hats on. 



64 THE MERCHANT {.Act II 

How much unlike art thou to Portia ! 
How much unlike my hopes and my deservings ! 
'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he de- 
serves.' 
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head? 
Is that my prize? are my deserts no better? 60 

Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices 

And of opposed natures*. 
Ar. What is here? 

[Reads] The fire seven times tried this : 

Seven times tried that judgment is 
That did never choose amiss. « 

Some there be that shadows kiss ; 
Such have but a shadow's bliss : 
There be fools alive, I wis, 
Silver'd o'er; and so was this. 
Take what wife you will to bedf, 70 

I will ever be your head$: 
So be gone : you are sped. 
Still more fool I shall appear 
By the time I linger here; 
With one fool's head I came to woo, 
But I go away with two. 
Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath, 
Patiently to bear my wroth. 

lExeunt Arragon and train. 
Par. Thus hath the candle singed the moth. 

O, these deliberate fools ! when they do choose, 80 
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 
* A man is not competent to judge his own deserts. 
t Did Shakspere forget that Arragon had sworn never to woo a 
maid? Morocco made a similar promise. 
t You shall ever have afooVs head. 



Scene IX] OF VENICE 65 

Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy, 

Hanging and wiving goes* by destiny. 
Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Where is my lady? 

Por. Here: what would my lord? 

Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
A young Venetian, one that comes before 
To signify the approaching of his lord ; 
From whom he bringeth sensible regreetsf, 
To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, 90 
Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen 
So likely an ambassador of love ; 
A day in April never came so sweet, 
To show how costly summer was at hand, 
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 

Por. No more, I pray thee : I am half afeard 
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, 
Thou spend' st such high-day wit in praising him. 
Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see 
Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 100 

Ner. Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be ! [Exeunt. 



* Go would bo more grammatical 

* Hearty greetings. 



66 THE MERCHANT [Act III 



ACT III. 

Scene I. Venice. A street. 
Enter Salanio and Salarino. 

Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto? 

Salar. Why, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio 
hath a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow 
seas; the Goodwins*, I think they call the place; a 
very dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcases of 
many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip 
Report be an honest woman of her word. 

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as 
ever knappedf ginger or made her neighbours believe 
she wept for the death of a third husband. But it is 
true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the 
plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the 

honest Antonio, O that I had a title good enough 

tO' keep his name company ! — 

Salar. Come, the full stop. 

Salan. Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he 
hath lost a ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses. 

Salan. Let me say 'amen' betimes, lest the Devil cross 
my prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. 

Enter Shylock. 

How now, Shylock! what news among the mer- 
chants ? 

* Off the coast of Kent. t Nibbled. 



Scene I] OF VENICE 67 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of 
my daughter's flight. 

Salar. That's certain; I, for my part, knew the tailor 
that made the wings she flew withal. 

Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird 
was fledged; and then it is the complexion* of them 
all to leave the dam. 

Shy. She is damned for it. 

Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. 

Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 

Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these years ? 

Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 

Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh and 
hers than between jet and ivory; more between your 
bloods than there is between red wine and Rhenish. 
But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio had any 
loss at sea or no ? 

Shy. There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, a 
prodigal, who dare scarce show jus head on the 
Rialto; a beggar, that was used to come so smug 
upon the mart; let him look to his bond; he was 
wont to call me usurer ; let him look to his bond : he 
was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ; let 
him look to his bond. 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take 
his flesh : what's that good for ? 

Shy. To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, 
it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and 
hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses, 
mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted 
my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine ene- 

* Disposition. 



68 THE MERCHANT [Act III 

mies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath 
not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, di- 
mensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the 
same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to 
the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed 
and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a 
Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if 
you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, 
do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not 
revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will 
resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, 
what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian 
wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by 
Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy 
you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard, 
but I will better the instruction. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house 

and desires to speak with you both. 
Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 

Enter Tubal. 

Salan. Here comes another of the tribe : a third cannot 

be matched, unless the Devil himself turn Jew. 

[Exeunt Salan., Salar., and Servant. 
Shy. How now, Tubal ! what news from Genoa ? hast 

thou found my daughter? 
Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot 

find her. 
Shy. Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond gone, 

cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The 



Scene I] OF VENICE 69 

curse never fell upon our nation till now ; I never felt 
it till now : two thousand ducats in that ; and other 
precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter 
were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear! 
would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats 
in her coffin! No news of them? Why, so: and I 
know not what's spent in the search : why, thou loss 
upon loss ! the thief gone with so much, and so much 
to find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge: 
nor no ill luck stirring but what lights on my shoul- 
ders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tears but of 
my shedding. 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I 
heard in Genoa, — 

Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? 

Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from Trip- 
olis. 

Shy. I thank God, I thank God! Is't true, is't true? 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the 
wreck. 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal : good news, good news ! 
ha, ha ! where ? in Genoa ? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one 
night fourscore ducats. 

Shy. Thou stickest a dagger in me : I shall never see 
my gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting! four- 
score ducats ! 

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my 
company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but 
break. 

Shy. I am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll torture 
him : I am glad of it. 



70 THE MERCHANT [Act III 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring that he had of 
your daughter for a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal : it was 
my turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a 
bachelor : I would not have given it for a wilderness 
of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee 
me an officer ; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will 
have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; for, were he out 
of Venice, I can make what merchandise I will. Go, 
go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go, good 
Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal. {.Exeunt. 

Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, and 
. Attendants. 

Por. I pray you, tarry : pause a day or two 
Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 
I lose your company : therefore forbear awhile. 
There's something tells me, but it is not love, 
I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 
Hate counsels not in such a quality. 
But lest you should not understand me well, — 
And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought, — 
I would detain you here some month or two 
Before you venture for me. I could teach you 10 

How to choose right, but I am then forsworn ; 
So will I never be : so may you miss me ; 
But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin, 
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, 



Scene II] OF VENICE 71 

They have o'erlook'd me and divided me ; 

One half of me is yours, the other half yours, 

Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then yours, 

And so all yours. O, these naughty times 

Put bars between the owners and their rights ! 

And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so, 20 

Let fortune go to hell for it, not I. 

I speak too long ; but 'tis to peize* the time, 

To eke it and to draw it out in length, 
. To stay you from election. 
Bass. Let me choose; 

For as I am, I live upon the rack. 
Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio ! then confess 

What treason there is mingled with your love. 
Bass. None but that ugly treason of mistrust, 

Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love: 

There may as well be amity and life 30 

'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 
Por. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack, 

Where men enforced do speak anything. 
Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 
Por. Well then, confess and live. 
Bass. 'Confess' and 'love' 

Had been the very sum of my confession : 

O happy torment, when my torturer 

Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 

But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 
Por. Away, then ! I am lock'd in one of them : 40 

If you do love me, you will find me out. 

Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof. 

Let music sound while he doth make his choice ; 

* Retard. 



72 THE MERCHANT {Act III 

Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 

Fading in music : that the comparison 

May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream 

And watery death-bed for him. He may win; 

And what is music then? Then music is 

Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 

To a new-crowned monarch ; such it is 50 

As are those dulcet* sounds in break of day 

That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear 

And summon him to marriage. Now he goes, 

With no less presence, but with much more love, 

Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 

The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 

To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice ; 

The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, 

With bleared visages, come forth to view 

The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 60 

Live thou, I live: with much, much more dismay 

I view the fight than thou that makest the fray. 

Music, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to 
himself. 
Song. 
Tell me where is fancy bred, 
Or in the heart or in the head ? 
How begot, how nourished ? 
Reply.] 

It is engender'd in the eyes, 
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 

Let us all ring fancy's knell ; 70 

I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
All. Ding, dong, bell. 

* Sweet. 



Scene II] OF VENICE 73 

Bass. So may the outward shows be least themselves; 
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt 
But, being season'd with a gracious voice, 
Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, 
What damned error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it and approve it with a text, 
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? 80 

There is no vice so simple but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts : 
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, 
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk; 
And these assume but valour's excrement 
To render them redoubted ! Look on beauty, 
And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight ; 
Which therein works a miracle in nature, 90 

Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
So are those crisped snaky golden locks 
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, 
Upon supposed fairness, often known 
To be the dowry of a second head, 
The skull that bred them in the sepulchre. 
Thus ornament is but the guiled* shore 
To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
t Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, 
The seeming truth which cunning times put on 100 
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee ; 
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead, 

* Beguiling, treacherous. t The text here is doubtful. 



74 THE MERCHANT {Act III 

Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught, 
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence ; 
And here choose I : joy be the consequence ! 
Por. {Aside] How all the other passions fleet to air, 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair, 
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! no 

love, 

Be moderate ; allay thy ecstasy ; 

In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess. 

1 feel too much thy blessing : make it less, 
For fear I surfeit. 

Bass. What find I here? 

{Opening the leaden casket. 
Fair Portia's counterfeit*! What demi-god 
Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? 
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine 
Seem they in motion? Here are sever' d lips, 
Parted with sugar breath : so sweet a bar 
Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her 
hairs 120 

The painter plays the spider and hath woven 
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men 
Faster than gnats in cobwebs; but her eyes, — 
How could he see to do them? having made one, 
Methinks it should have power to steal both his 
And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far 
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
In underprising it, so far this shadow 
Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll, 
The continent* and summary of my fortune. 131 

* Likeness, 



Scene II] OF VENICE 75 

[Reads] You that choose not by the view, 
Chance as fair and choose as true! 
Since this fortune falls to you, 
Be content and seek no new. 
If you be well pleased with this 
And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
Turn you where your lady is 
And claim her with a loving kiss. 
A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave ; 

[.kissing her. 
I come by note, to give and to receive. 
Like one of two contending in a prize, 
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, 
Hearing applause and universal shout, 
Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt 
Whether those peals of praise be his or no ; 
So, thrice- fair lady, stand I, even so; 
As doubtful whether what I see be true, 
Until confirm' d, sign'd, ratified by you. 
Por. You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, 150 
Such as I am : though for myself alone 
I would not be ambitious in my wish, 
To wish myself much better ; yet, for you 
I would be trebled twenty times myself; 
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
More rich; 

That only to stand high in your account, 
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
Exceed account ; but the full sum of me 
Is sum of — something; which, to term in gross, 
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised; 161 
Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
* That which contains. 



76 THE MERCHANT [Act III 

*But she may learn; happier in this, 

She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 

Happiest of all in that her gentle spirit 

Commits itself to yours to be directed; 

As from her lord, her governor, her king. 

Myself and what is mine to you and yours 

Is now converted : but now I was the lord 

Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 170 

Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 

This house, these servants, and this same myself 

Are yours, my lord : I give them with this ring ; 

Which when you part from, lose, or give away, 

Let it presage the ruin of your love 

And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 

Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words, 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins ; 
And there is such confusion in my powers, 
As, after some oration fairly spoke 180 

By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
Among the buzzing pleased multitude; 
Where every something, being blent together, 
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring 
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence : 
O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead ! 

Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time, 

That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper, 
To cry, good joy: Good joy, my lord and lady! 190 

Gra. My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy that you can wish; 

* The reading here adopted is the one that seems best to suit the 
beauty of the passage in tbe modern ear. 



Scene II] OF VENICE 77 

For I am sure you can wish none from me* : 
And when your honours mean to solemnize 
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 

Gra. I thank your lordship, you have got me one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid; 200 

You loved, I loved for intermission. 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the casket there, 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls ; 
For wooing here until I sweat again, 
And swearing till my very roof was dry 
With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, 
I got a promise of this fair one here 
To have her love, provided that your fortune 
Achiev'd her mistress. 

Por. Is this true, Nerissa? 210 

Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 

Bass. And do you, Gratiaho, mean good faith? 

Gra. Yes, faith, my lord. 

Bass. Our feast shall be much honour' d in your mar- 
riage. 

Gra. We'll play with them the first boy for a thousand 
ducats. 

Ner. What, and stake down? 

Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake 
down. 220 

But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? 
What, and my old Venetian friend Salerio? 

* Begrudge me any. 



78 THE MERCHANT lAct HI 

Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio*, a Messenger from 

Venice. 

Bass. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither; 

If that the youth of my new interest here 

Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, 

I bid my very friends and countrymen, 

Sweet Portia, welcome. 
For. So do I, my lord; 

They are entirely welcome. 
Lor. I thank your honour. For my part, my lord, 

My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 230 

But meeting with Salerio by the way, . 

He did intreat me, past all saying nay, 

To come with him along. 
Saler. I did, my lord; 

And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 

Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a letter. 
Bass. Ere I ope this letter, 

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 
Saler. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; 

Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 

Will show you his estate. 
Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger ; bid her welcome. 240 

Your hand, Salerio : what's the news from Venice ? 

How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? 

I know he will be glad of our success ; 

We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. 

* Some conjecture this is Salanio. There is evidently some con 
fusion between the three friends of Antonio, Salarino, Salanio and 
Salerio % for in the old editions all the names are spelled in a variety of 
ways. 



Scene II] OF VENICE 79 

Saler. I would you had won the fleece that he hath 
lost. 

Por. There are some shrewd* contents in yon same 
paper, 
That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek: 
Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
Could turn so much the constitution 
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse ! 250 
With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself, 
And I must have the half of anything 
That this same paper brings you. 

Bass. O sweet Portia, 

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words 
That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady, 
When I did first impart my love to you, 
I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
Ran in my veins, I was a gentlemanf; 
And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady, 
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
How much I was a braggart. When I told you 
My statej was nothing, I should then have told you 
That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, 
I have engaged myself to a dear friend, 
Engaged my friend to his merest enemy, 
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady; 
The paper as the body of my friend, 
And every word in it a gaping wound, 
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio? 
Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit? 
From Tripolis, from Mexico and England, 271 

* Sharp, hence painful. 

t Bassanio is not a strong character in the play, but he is certainly 
a thorough gentleman. X Estate. XX Absolute. 



80 THE MERCHANT lAct III 

From Lisbon, Barbary and India? 

And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 

Of merchant-marring rocks? 

Saler. Not one, my lord. 

Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
The present money to discharge the Jew, 
He would not take it. Never did I know 
A creature, that did bear the shape of man, 
So keen and greedy to confound a man : 
He plies the Duke at morning and at night, 
And doth impeach the freedom of the state 280 

If they deny him justice: twenty merchants, 
The Duke himself, and the magnificoes 
Of greatest port*, have all persuaded with him ; 
But none can drive him from the enviousf plea 
Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond. 

Jes. When I was with him I have heard him swear 
To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, 
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh 
Than twenty times the value of the sum 
That he did owe him : and I know, my lord, 290 
If law, authority and power deny not, 
It will go hard with poor Antonio. 

Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? 

Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, 
The best-condition' dt and unwearied spirit 
In doing courtesies, and one in whom 
The ancient Roman honour more appears 
Than any that draws breath in Italy. 

Por. What sum owes he the Jew ? 

Bass. For me three thousand ducats. 

* Importance. t Malicious. t Best-tempered. 



Scene II] OF VENICE 81 

Por. What, no more? 300 

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond; 
Double six thousand, and then treble that, 
Before a friend of this description 
Shall lose a hair through my Bassanio's fault. 
First go with me to church and call me wife, 
And. then away to Venice to your friend ; 
For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
To pay the petty debt twenty times over : 
When it is paid, bring your true friend along. 310 
My maid Nerissa and myself meantime 
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ! 
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day: 
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer ; 
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. 
But let me hear the letter of your friend. 

Bass. [Reads] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all mis- 
carried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very 
low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; and since in pay- 
ing it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are 
cleared between you and I*, if I might but see you 
at my death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure: 
if your love do not persuade you to come, let not 
my letter. 

Por. O love, dispatch all business, and be gone ! 

Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
I will make haste : but, till I come again, 
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, 
No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. 

[Exeunt. 

* A grammatical error. Between you and me. 



82 THE MERCHANT [Act III 

Scene III. Venice. A street. 
Enter Shylock, Salarino, Antonio and Gaoler. 

Shy. Gaoler, look to him; tell not me of mercy; 
This is the fool that lent out money gratis : 
Gaoler, look to him. 

Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 

Shy. I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond; 
I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond. 
Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause ; 
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs : 
The Duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder, 
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond* 
To come abroad with him at his request. 10 

Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 

Shy. I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak: 
I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool, 
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
To Christian intercessors. Follow not; 
I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond. [Exit. 

Salar. It is the most impenetrable cur 
That ever kept with men. 

Ant. Let him alone: 

I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. 20 

He seeks my life ; his reason well I know : 

I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 

Many that have at times made moan to me ; 

Therefore he hates me. 

Salar. I am sure the Duke 

Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 

* Foolish. 



Scene IV] OF VENICE 83 

Ant The Duke cannot deny the course of law : 
For the commodity* that strangersf have 
With us in Venice, if it be denied, 
Will much impeach the justice of his state; 
Since that the trade and profit of the city, 30 

Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go : 
These griefs and losses have so bated me, 
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
To-morrow to my bloody creditor. 
Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come 
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and Balthasar. 

Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence, 
You have a noble and a true conceit^ 
Of god-like amity; which appears most strongly 
In bearing thus the absence of your Lord. 
But if you knew to whom you show this honour, 
How true a gentleman you send relief, 
How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
I know you would be prouder of the work 
Than customary bounty can enforce you. 

Por. I never did repent for doing good, IO 

Nor shall not now : for in companions 
That do converse and waste the time together, 
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
There must be needs a like proportion 

* Because of the interest, or intercourse. 

t Antonio was a citizen, but Shylock was an alien in the eyes of 
the law. % Conception. 



84 THE MERCHANT lAct III 

Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit; 

Which makes me think that this Antonio, 

Being the bosom lover of my lord, 

Must needs be like my lord. If it be so, 

How little is the cost I have bestow'd 

In purchasing the semblance of my soul 20 

From out the state of hellish misery ! 

This comes too near the praising of myself; 

Therefore no more of it: hear other things. 

Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 

The husbandry and manage of my house 

Until my lord's return : for mine own part, 

I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow 

To live in prayer and contemplation, 

Only attended by Nerissa here, 

Until her husband and my lord's return: 30 

There is a monastery two miles off ; 

And there will we abide. I do desire you 

Not to deny this imposition; 

The which my love and some necessity 

Now lays upon you. 
Lor. Madam, with all my heart; 

I shall obey you in all fair commands. 
Por. My people do already know my mind, 

And will acknowledge you and Jessica 

In place of Lord Bassanio and myself. 

And so farewell, till we shall meet again. 40 

Lor. Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you ! 
Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
Por. I thank you for your wish and am well pleased 

To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. 

[Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo. 



Scene IV] OF VENICE 85 

Now, Balthasar, 

As I have ever found thee honest-true, 

So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, 

And use thou all the endeavour of a man 

In speed to Padua : see thou render this 

Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario; 50 

And, look, what notes and garments he doth give 

thee, 
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed 
Unto the tranect*, to the common ferry 
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words, 
But get thee gone : I shall be there before thee. 

Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. [Exit. 

Por. Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand 

That you yet know not of ; we'll see our husbands 
Before they think of us. 

Ner. Shall they see us? 

Por. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit, 60 

That they shall think we are accomplished 
With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager, 
When we are both accoutred like young men. 
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
And wear my dagger with the braver grace, 
And speak between the change of man and boy 
With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps 
Into a manly stride, and speak of frays 
Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaintf lies, 
How honourable ladies sought my love, 70 

Which I denying, they fell sick and died ; 
I could not do withal$; then I'll repent, 
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them ; 

* A doubtful word. t Ingenious. X I could not help it. 



86 THE MERCHANT [Act III 

And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, 
That men shall swear I have discontinued school 
Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind 
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 
Which I will practise. 

Ner. Why, shall we turn to men? 

Por. Fie, what a question's that, 

If thou wert near a lewd interpreter! 80 

But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device 
When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
At the park gate ; and therefore haste away, 
For we must measure twenty miles to-day. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene V. The same. A garden. 

Enter Launcelot and Jessica. 

Laun. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father 
are to be laid upon the children; therefore, I prom- 
ise ye, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and 
so now I speak my agitation of the matter: there- 
fore be of good cheer, for truly I think you are 
damned. There is but one hope in it that can do 
you any good ; and that is but a kind of bastard hope 
neither. 

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee? 

Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your father 
got you not ; that you are not the Jew's daughter. 

Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed : so the 
sins of my mother should be visited upon me. 

Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned both by 
father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your 



Scene V] OF VENICE 87 

father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you 
are gone both ways. 

Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath made me 
a Christian. 

Laun. Truly, the more to blame he; we were Chris- 
tians enow before; e'en as many as could well live, 
one by another. This making of Christians will 
raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork- 
eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the 
coals for money. 

Enter Lorenzo. 

Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: 
here he comes. 

Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, 
if you thus get my wife into corners. 

Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo: Launcelot 
and I are out. He tells me flatly, there is no mercy 
for me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter: 
and he says, you are no good member of the com- 
monwealth, for in converting Jews to Christians, you 
raise the price of pork. 

Lor. I shall answer that better to the commonwealth 
than you can the getting up of the negro's belly : the 
Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. 

Laun. It is much that the Moor should be more than 
reason; but if she be less than an honest woman, 
she is indeed more than I took her for. 

Lor. How every fool can play upon the word! I 
think the best grace of wit will shortly turn into 
silence, and discourse grow commendable in. none 
only but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare 
for dinner. 



88 THE MERCHANT {Act III 

Lawn. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. 

Lor. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! then 
bid them prepare dinner. 

Lawn. That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the word. 

Lor. Will you cover then, sir? 

Laun. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. 

Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt thou 
show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? 
I pray thee, understand a plain man in his plain 
meaning : go to thy fellows ; bid them cover the 
table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to 
dinner. 

Lawn. For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for 
the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming 
in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and con- 
ceits shall govern. {Exit. 

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited ! 70 
The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words ; and I do know 
A many fools, that stand in better place, 
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 
How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife? 

Jes. Past all expressing. It is very meet 
The Lord Bassanio live an upright life; 
For, having such a blessing in his lady, 80 

He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; 
And if on earth he do not mean* it, then 
In reason he should never come to heaven. 
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match 
* Some read, he do not merit it. The passage is hopelessly corrupt 



Scene V] OF VENICE 89 

And on the wager lay two earthly women, 

And Portia one, there must be something else 

Pawn'd with the other, for the poor rude world 

Hath not her fellow. 
Lor. Even such a husband 

Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. 
Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 90 

Lor. I will anon: first, let us go to dinner. 
Jes. Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach. 
Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk; 

Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 

I shall digest it. 
Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [Exeunt. 



90 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. Venice. A court of justice. 

Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bassanio, 
Gratiano, Salerio, and others. 

Duke. What, is Antonio here? 

Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 

Duke. I am sorry for thee : thou art come to answer 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any dram of mercy. 

Ant. I have heard 

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify* 

His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate 

And that no lawful means can carry me 

Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 10 

My patience to his fury, and am arm'd 

To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 

The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 

Saler. He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord. 

Enter Shy lock. 

Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face. 
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
To the last hour of act; and then 'tis thought 
Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorsef more strange 

* Moderate. t Pity 



Scene I] OF VENICE 91 

Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; 21 

And where thou now exact' st the penalty, 
Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, 
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 
But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
Forgive a moiety* of the principal; 
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 
That have of late so huddled on his back, 
Enow to press a royal merchant down 
And pluck commiseration of his state 30 

From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, 
From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd 
To offices of tender courtesy. 
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 
Shy. I have possess'df your grace of what I purpose ; 
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
If you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon your charter and your city's freedom. 
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 40 

A weight of carrion flesh than to receive 
Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that : 
But, say, it is my humour: is it answer'd? 
What if my house be troubled with a rat 
And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats 
To have it banedj? What, are you answer'd yet? 
Some men there are love not a gaping pig; 
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat; 
And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose, 
Cannot contain their urine ; for affection$$, 50 

* Half, or used of any portion. t Informed. 

X Killed with ratsbane. 

XX The state of being affected or moved 



92 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 

Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood 

Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer : 

As there is no firm reason to be render'd, 

Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 

Why he, a harmless necessary cat; 

Why he, a wauling* bag-pipe; but of force 

Must yield to such inevitable shame 

As to offend, himself being offended ; 

So can I give no reason, nor I will not, 

More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing 60 

I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 

A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? 

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answers. 

Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love? 

Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? 

Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 

Shy. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee 
twice ? 

Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew : 70 
You may as well go stand upon the beach 
And bid the main floodf bate his usual height; 
You may as well use question with the wolf 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops and to make no noise, 
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven; 
You may as well do anything most hard, 
As seek to soften that — than which what's harder? — 
His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you, 80 

* The old editions read woollen. t Ocean tide. 



Scene J] OF VENICE 93 

Make no more offers, use no farther means, 
But with all brief and plain conveniency 
Let me have judgment and the Jew his will. 

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
Were in six parts and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw them; I would have my bond. 

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering 
none? 

Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? 
You have among you many a purchas'd slave, 90 

Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules, 
You use in abject and in slavish parts, 
Because you bought them : shall I say to you, 
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs? 
Why sweat they under burthens ? let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands? You will answer 
'The slaves are ours :' so do I answer you : 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, 
Is dearly bought; 'tis mine and I will have it. 100 
If you deny me, fie upon your law ! 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice, 
I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? 

Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, 
Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
Come here to-day. 

Saler. My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
New come from Padua. 

Duke. Bring us the letters; call the messenger. no 



94 THE MERCHANT {Act IV 

Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man, courage yet ! 
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all, 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 

Meetest for death : the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me: 
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, 
Than to live still and write mine epitaph. 
Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. 

Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? 

Ner. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace. 

[Presenting a letter. 120 

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? 

Shy. To cut the forfeit from that bankrupt there. 

Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
Thou makest thy knife keen ; but no metal can, 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? 

Shy. No, none that thou nast wit enough to make. 

Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog ! 
And for thy life let justice be accused. 
Thou almost makest me waver in my faitli 130 

To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men; thy currish spirit 
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter, 
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, 
Infused itself in thee; for thy desires 
Are wolfish, bloody, starved and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, 
Thou but offend' st thy lungs to speak so loud : 140 



Scene I] OF VENICE 95 

Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. 

Duke. This' letter from Bellario doth commend 
A young and learned doctor to our court. 
Where is he? 

Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 

To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 

Duke. With all my heart. Some three or four of you 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. 
Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

Clerk. [Reads] Your grace shall understand that at the 
receipt of your letter I am very sick: but in the 
instant that your messenger came, in loving visita- 
tion was with me a young doctor of Rome ; his name 
is Balthasar. I acquainted him with the cause in 
controversy between the Jew and Antonio the mer- 
chant; we turned o'er many books together; he is 
furnished with my opinion; which, bettered with his 
own learning, the greatness whereof I cannot enough 
commend, comes with him, at my importunity, to fill 
up your grace's request in my stead. I beseech you, 
let his lack of years be no impediment to let him 
lack a reverend estimation; for I never knew so 
young a body with so old a head. I leave him to 
your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better 
publish his commendation. 

Duke, You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes : 
And here, I take it, is the doctor come. 



96 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 

Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. 

Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario ? 

Por. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 170 

Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court? 

Por. I am informed throughly* of the cause. 

Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? 

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 

Por. Is your name Shylock? 

Shy. Shylock is my name. 

Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
Yet in such rule that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn you as you do proceed. 
You stand within his danger, do you not? 180 

Ant. Ay, so he says. 

Por. Do you confess the bond? 

Ant. I do. 

Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. 

Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd, 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath; it is twice blest; 
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes : 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 190 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this sceptred sway; 

* Thoroughly. Thorough and through were originally the same 
word. 



Scene I] OF VENICE 97 

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 

It is an attribute to God himself; 

And earthly power doth then show likest God's 

When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 

Though justice be thy plea, consider this, 

That, in the course of justice, none of us 

Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 200 

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 

The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much 

To mitigate the justice of thy plea; 

Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 

Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? 

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court; 

Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, 210 

I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 

On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 

If this will not suffice, it must appear 

That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, 

Wrest once the law to your authority: 

To do a great right, do a little wrong, 

And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Por. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 

'Twill be recorded for a precedent, 220 

And many an error by the same example 
Will rush into the state; it cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel ! 
O wise young judge, how I do honour thee! 

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 



98 THE MERCHANT {Act IV 

Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 

Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? ' 
No, not for Venice! 

Por. Why, this bond is forfeit; 230 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful : 
Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. 
It doth appear you are a worthy judge; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear 240 

There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

Ant Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

Por. Why then, thus it is : 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shy. O noble judge! O excellent young man! 

Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

Shy. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge! 250 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

Por. Therefore lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast: 

So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge? 
'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words. 



Scene I] OF VENICE 99 

Por. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 

The flesh? 
Shy. I have them ready. 
Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 

To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? 
Por. It is not so express'd: but what of that? 260 

'Twere good you do so much for charity. 
Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. 
Por. You, merchant, have you anything to say? 
Ant. But little : I am arm'd and well prepared. 

Give me your hand, Bassanio : fare you well! 

Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you : 

For herein fortune shows herself more kind 

Than is her custom : it is still her use 

To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 

To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 270 

An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance 

Of such misery doth she cut me off. 

Commend me to your honourable wife: 

Tell her the process of Antonio's end; 

Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death; 

And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge 

Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 

Repent but you that you shall lose your friend, 

And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 

For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 280 

I'll pay it presently with all my heart. 
Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife 

Which* is as dear to me as life itself ; 

But life itself, my wife, and all the world, 

* Who. Compare Our Father which art in Heaven. 

L«ffc 



100 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 

Are not with me esteem'd above thy life : 

I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 

Here to this devil, to deliver you. 
Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for that, 

If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 
Gra. I have a wife whom, I protest, I love : 290 

I would she were in heaven, so she could 

Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 
Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 

The wish would make else an unquiet house. 
Shy. These be the Christian husbands. I have a 
daughter ; 

Would any of the stock of Barrabas 

Had been her husband rather than a Christian ! 

[Aside. 

We trifle time : I pray thee, pursue sentence. 
Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine: 

The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 300 
Shy. Most rightful judge! 
Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast: 

The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
Shy. Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare! 
Por. Tarry a little ; there is something else. 

This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; 

The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh :' 

Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 

But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 

One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 

Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 311 

Unto the state of Venice. 
Gra. O upright judge ! Mark, Jew : O learned judge ! 
Shy. Is that the law? 



Scene I] OF VENICE 101 

Por. Thyself shall see the act : 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 

Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 
Gra. O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge! 
Shy. I take this offer, then ; pay the bond thrice 

And let the Christian go. 
Bass. Here is the money. 

Por. Soft ! 320 

The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste: 

He shall have nothing but the penalty. 
Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 
Por. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 

Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more 

But just a pound of flesh : if thou cut'st more 

Or less than a just pound, be it but so much 

As makes it light or heavy in the substance, 

Or the division of the twentieth part 

Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn 330 

But in the estimation of a hair, 

Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate. 
Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 

Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. 
Por. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. 
Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 
Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 
Por. He hath refused it in the open court : 

He shall have merely justice and his bond. 
Gra. A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel ! 340 

I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 
Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 



102 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 

Shy. Why, then the Devil give him good of it ! 
I'll stay no longer question. 

Por. Tarry, Jew : 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 

It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 

If it be proved against an alien 

That by direct or indirect attempts 350 

He seek the life of any citizen, 

The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 

Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 

Comes to the privy coffer of the state; 

And the offender's life lies in the mercy 

Of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 

In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st; 

For it appears, by manifest proceeding, 

That indirectly and directly too 

Thou hast contrived against the very life 360 

Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd 

The danger formally by me rehearsed. 

Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself: 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. 

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; 370 

The other half comes to the general state, 
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 

Por. Ay, for the state, not for Antonio. 

Shy. Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : 
You take my house when you do take the prop 



Scene I] OF VENICE 103 

That doth sustain my house; you take my life 

When you do take the means whereby I live. 
Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 
Gra. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake. 
Ant. So please my lord the duke and all the court 380 

To quit the fine for one half of his goods, 

I am content; so he will let me have 

The other half in use, to render it, 

Upon his death, unto the gentleman 

That lately stole his daughter: 

Two things provided more, that, for this favour, 

He presently become a Christian; 

The other, that he do record a gift, 

Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, 

Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. 390 

Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant 

The pardon that I late pronounced here. 
Por. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say? 
Shy. I am content. 

Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence; 

I am not well : send the deed after me, 

And I will sign it. 
Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. In christening shalt thou have two godfathers: 

Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more*, 
• To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 400 

{.Exit Shylock. 
Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 
Por. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon: 

I must away this night toward Padua, 

* That is, twelve jurymen to condemn him to death. An ancient 
joke. 



104 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 

And it is meet I presently set forth. 

Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman, 
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

[Exeunt Duke and his train. 

Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof, 410 

Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 

Ant. And stand indebted, over and above, 
In love and service to you evermore. 

Por. He is well paid that is well satisfied; 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied 
And therein do account myself well paid : 
My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
I pray you, know me when we meet again : 
I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 420 

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further: 
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, 
Not as a fee : grant me two things, I pray you, 
Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 

Por. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 

[To Ant.] Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your 
sake; 

[To Bass.] And, for your love, I'll take this ring from 
you: 
Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more; 
And you in love shall not deny me this. 

Bass. This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle ! 430 

I will not shame myself to give you this. 

Por. I will have nothing else but only this ; 



Scene I] OF VENICE 105 

And now methinks I have a mind to it. 

Bass. There's more depends on this than on the value. 
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 
And find it out by proclamation : 
Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. 

Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers : 

You taught me first to beg; and now methinks 
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. 

Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife ; 
And when she put it on, she made me vow 
That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it. 

Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. 
An if your wife be not a mad-woman, 
And know how well I have deserved the ring, 
She would not hold out enemy for ever, 
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you! 

[Exeunt Portia and Nerissa. 

Ant. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring: 

Let his deservings and my love withal 450 

Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandement*. 

Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him; 

Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst, 
Unto Antonio's house : away ! make haste. 

{.Exit Gratiano. 
Come, you and I will thither presently; 
And in the morning early will we both 
Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio. {.Exeunt. 



Pronounced with four syllables. 



106 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 

Scene II. The same. A street. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed 
And let him sign it; we'll away to-night 
And be a day before our husbands home: 
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en: 

My Lord Bassanio upon more advice 

Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat 

Your company at dinner. 
Por. That cannot be: 

His ring I do accept most thankfully: 

And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore, 10 

I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house. 
Gra. That will I do. 
Ner. Sir, I would speak with you. 

{.Aside to Por.} I'll see if I can get my husband's 
ring, 

Which I did make him swear to keep forever. 
Por. [Aside to Ner.] Thou mayst, I warrant. 

We shall have old* swearing 

That they did give the rings away to men; 

But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. 

{Aloud] Away! make haste: thou know'st where I 
will tarry. 
Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house? 

[Exeunt. 

* A slang word used as we might huge. 



Scene I] OF VENICE 107 



ACT V. 

Scene I. Belmont. Avenue to Portia's house. 
Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 

Lor. The moon shines bright: in such a night as this, 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees 
And they did make no noise, in such a night 
Troilus methinks mounted the Trojan walls 
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
Where Cressid lay that night. 

Jes. In such a night 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself* 
And ran dismay'd away. 

Lor. In such a night 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 10 

Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

Jes. In such a night 

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old Mso~. 

Lor. In such a night 

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew 
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice 
As far as Belmont. 

Jes. In such a night 

Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well, 

* Saw the lion's shadow before the lion himself. 



108 THE MERCHANT [Act V 

Stealing her soul with many vows of faith 

And ne'er a true one. 
Lor. In such a night 20 

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 

Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 
Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come ; 

But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 

Enter Stephano. 

Lor. Who comes so fast in the silence of the night? 

Steph. A friend. 

Lor. A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, 
friend ? 

Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word 
My mistress will before the break of day 
Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about 30 

By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
For happy wedlock hours. 

Lor. Who comes with her? 

Steph. None but a holy hermit and her maid. 
I pray you, is my master yet return'd? 

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. * 
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
And ceremoniously let us prepare 
Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 

Enter Launcelot. 

Laun. Sola, sola ! wo ha, ho ! sola, sola ! 

Lor. Who calls? 40 

Laun. Sola ! did you see Master Lorenzo ? 

Master Lorenzo, sola, sola ! 
Lor. Leave hollaing, man : here. 
Laun. Sola! where? where? i 



Scene I] OF VENICE 109 

Lor. Here. 

Laun. Tell him' there's a post come from my master, 
with his horn full of good news : my master will be 
here ere morning. {.Exit. 

Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. 
And yet no matter : why should we go in? 50 

My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, 
Within the house, your mistress is at hand; 
And bring your music forth into the air. 

[Exit Stephano. 
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
Here will we sit and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears : soft stillness and the night 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines* of bright gold : 
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 61 

Still quiringf to the young-eyed cherubins ; 
Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 

Enter Musicians. 

Come, ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn : 
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear 
And draw her home with music. [Music. 

Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 
Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: 70 

For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
* Small gold or silver-gilt plates used in the Eucharist, 
t Singing like a choir. 



110 THE MERCHANT [Act V 

Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, 
Which is the hot condition of their blood; 
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
Or any air of music touch their ears, 
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze 
By the sweet power of music : therefore the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and 
floods ; 80 

Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, 
But music for the time doth change his nature. 
The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils ; 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night 
And his affections dark as Erebus : 
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. 

How far that little candle throws his beams ! 90 

So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. 

Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: 
A substitute shines brightly as a king 
Until a king be by, and then his state 
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
Into the main of waters. Music ! hark ! 

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. 

Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect* : 
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 

Unheeded. 



Scene J] OF VENICE 111 

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 
Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark 

When neither is attended, and I think 

The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 

When every goose is cackling, would be thought 

No better a musician than the wren. 

How many things by season season'd are 

To their right praise and true perfection ! 

Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion 

And would not be awaked. [Music ceases. 

Lor. That is the voice, no 

Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. 
Por. He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo, 

By the bad voice. 
Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 

Por. We have been praying for our husbands' healths, 

Which speed, we hope, the better for our words, 

Are they return'd? 
Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 

But there is come a messenger before, 

To signify their coming. 
Por. Go in, Nerissa; 

Give order to my servants that they take 

No note at all of our being absent hence ; 120 

Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you. 

LA tucket* sounds. 
Lor. Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet: 

We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. 
Por. This night methinks is but the daylight sick ; 

It looks a little paler: 'tis a day, 

Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 

* A peculiar series of notes on a trumpet. 



112 THE MERCHANT lAct V 

Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their followers. 

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
If you would walk in absence of the sun. 

For. Let me give light, but let me not be light; 

For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 130 

And never be Bassanio so for me: 

But God sort all ! You are welcome home, my lord. 

Bass. I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my 
friend. 
This is the man, this is Antonio, 
To whom I am so infinitely bound. 

Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, 
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 

Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 

Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 

It must appear in other ways than words, 140 

Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. 

Gra. [To Ner.] By yonder moon I swear you do me 
wrong ; 
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk: 
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, 
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 

Por. A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? 

Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
That she did give me, whose posy was 
For all the world like cutler's poetry 
Upon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not.' 150 

Ner. What talk you of the posy or the value? 
You swore to me, when I did give it you, 
That you would wear it till your hour of death 
And that it should lie with you in your grave : 



Scene I] OF VENICE 113 

Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, 
You should have been respective* and have kept it 
Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge, 
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it. 

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 160 

Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, 
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy, 
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk, 
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee: 
I could not for my heart deny it him. 

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, 
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; 
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger 
And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. 
I gave my love a ring and made him swear 170 

Never to part with it ; and here he stands ; 
I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it 
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief: 
An 'twere to me, 'I should be mad at it. 

Bass. {Aside.] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off 
And swear I lost the ring defending it. 

Gra. My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away 

Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed 180 

Deserved it too; and then the boy, his clerk, 
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine; 
And neither man nor master would take aught 
But the two rings. 

Por. What ring gave you, my lord? 

* Considerate. 



114 THE MERCHANT [Act V 

Not that, I hope, which you received of me. 

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, • 
I would deny it; but you see my finger 
Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone. 

Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 

By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 190 

Until I see the ring. 

Ner. Nor I in yours 

Till I again see mine. 

Bass. Sweet Portia, 

If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 

If you did know for whom I gave the ring 

And would conceive for what I gave the ring 

And how unwillingly I left the ring, 

When nought would be accepted but the ring, 

You would abate the strength of your displeasure. 

Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring, 200 

Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 
Or your own honour to contain the ring, 
You would not then have parted with the ring. 
What man is there so much unreasonable, 
If you had pleased to have defended it 
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
To urge the thing held as a ceremony? 
Nerissa teaches me what to believe: 
I'll die for 't but some woman had the ring. 

Bass. No, by my honour, madam, by my soul, 

No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 210 

Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me 
And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him 
And suffer'd him to go displeased away; 
Even he that did uphold the very life 



Scene I] OF VENICE 115 

Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? 

I was enforced to send it after him; 

I was beset with shame and courtesy; 

My honour would not let ingratitude 

So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady ; 

For, by these blessed candles of the night, 220 

Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd 

The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: 
Since he hath got the jewel that I loved, 
And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
I will become as liberal as you; 
I'll not deny him any thing I have, 
No, not my body nor my husband's bed: 
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: 
Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus: 
If you do not, if I be left alone, 
Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, 
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow. 

Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advised 
How you do leave me to mine own protection. 

Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take him, then ; 
For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. 

Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 

Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwith- 
standing. 

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; 240 

And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
Wherein I see myself — 

Por. Mark you but that! 

In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; 



116 THE MERCHANT lAct V 

In each eye, one : swear by your double self, 
And there's an oath of credit. 

Bass. Nay, but hear me : 

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear 
I never more will break an oath with thee. 

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth; 

Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 
Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again, 
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
Will never more break faith advisedly. 

Por. Then you shall be his surety. Give him this 
And bid him keep it better than the other. 

Ant. Here, Lord Bassanio ; swear to keep this ring. 

Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor ! 

Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; 
For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me. 

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 260 

For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, 
In lieu of this last night did lie with me. 

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways 
In summer, where the ways are fair enough : 
What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it? 

Por. Speak not so grossly. You are all amazed : 
Here is a letter; read it at your leisure; 
It comes from Padua, from Bellario: 
There you shall find that Portia was the doctor, 
Kerissa there her clerk : Lorenzo here 270 

Shall witness I set forth as soon as you 
And even but now return'd; I have not yet 
linter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome; 
And I have better news in store for you 
Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; 



Scene I] OF VENICE 117 

There you shall find three of your argosies 
Are richly come to harbour suddenly: 
You shall not know by what strange accident 
I chanced on this letter. 

Ant. I am dumb. 

Bass. Were you the doctor and I knew you not? 280 

Gra. Were you the clerk tfiat is to make me cuckold ? 

Ner. Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, 
Unless he live until he be a man. 

Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow: 
When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; 
For here I read for certain that my ships 
Are safely come to road. 

Por. How now, Lorenzo ! 

My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 

Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. 290 

There do I give to you and Jessica, 
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, 
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
Of starved people. 

Por. It is almost morning, 

And yet I am sure you are not satisfied 
Of these events at full. Let us go in; 
And charge us there upon inter'gatories, 
And we will answer all things faithfully. 

Gra. Let it be so: the first inter' gatory 300 

That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is, 
Whether till the next night she had rather stay, 
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day : 



118 THE MERCHANT [Act V 

But were the day come, I should wish it dark, 
That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing 
So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt. 



[the end.] 



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